Heart of Brooklyn
by Sirenn
Summary: The truth as to how she got her name is a mystery. Whether her birth certificate truly says Brooke Lynn or she named herself after the borough that had parented her with tough love. She was Brooklyn. Yea, I know what you're thinking so was he...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the newsies or any characters from the movie I do own any characters you don't recognize from the movie.

Brooklyn is the toughest of the five boroughs, a place with cracked streets and broken homes. Big brick buildings conceal the lives of the so-called families dwelling within. Slate colored smoke pollutes the once pure air surrounding those factories workers dread entering. It was a place that bred its children to grow up too fast and trust no one but themselves. Street smarts, and tough exteriors are the only tools useful when surviving the dark streets. Brooklyn has a different atmosphere than the other boroughs, at least it did back when the newsies ran freely through the streets. Brooklyn was less carefree than Manhattan. Stepping across that bridge led you to a place with darker allies, broader shoulders and greater pride. The natives of the borough didn't enjoy the cushy office jobs that Manhattaners did. The workers here suffered manual labor or the prison sentence of a factory job. The few businessmen that prospered in Brooklyn were the type of men who could thrive on the shady streets – crooked. The labor made men stronger, forcing them to rise to their full potential physically. Those who couldn't make it in Manhattan fled to one of its five boroughs. These rejects settled in the shadow of the greatest city in the world. Those who arrived in Brooklyn chose to fight back against the expulsion. They pushed their limits to see if they could survive the rough streets. They became alike. These survivors are as calloused and unforgiving as the streets who parented them. They know of their own strength in waking up each morning, and with survival in Brooklyn comes pride. Each inhabitant who breaths in the dingy air finds himself full to the brim of this hateful pride. When it comes to defending one's pride there is no such thing as going too far. The streets care not who you are or what you've been through. They blindly threaten each person equally, either forcing them to find the strength within to persevere, or squashing their once delicate being into nothingness. The place remains unchanged through all it has seen. The same alley that in the small hours of darkness secluded the stolen innocence of a young girl, also witnessed the beauty of hidden kisses in the bright daylight hours. This story is about Brooklyn, but not about the borough…its about a girl. A girl who was not only brought up by the borough, but named for it - or so she says. The truth as to how she got her name is a mystery. Whether her birth certificate truly says Brooke Lynn or she named herself after the borough that had parented her with tough love, she had never gone by another name. She was Brooklyn.

Yea, I know what your thinking so was he…


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the newsies or any characters from the movie I do own any characters you don't recognize from the movie.

_Oh there is no way this guy is gonna catch me_. Some would consider a thought like this to be cocky, but to her it was motivation. She repeated this thought in her mind as she repressed the pain in her legs and willed them to move faster. Her heart beat excitedly from the thrill of the chase. She began to disappear from her pursuer. In her peripheral vision she saw the vendor becoming smaller and smaller as she continued to enjoy the high she got from her danger. Her feet no longer felt attached to her body, as she focused on nothing but the distance to be crossed. Running came naturally to her, since agility is a virtue the small are gifted with. She was focused on her lungs' love affair with the sweet air they breathed in. Lost in a world all her own, it wasn't until the carriage appeared suddenly in front of her that she was brought back to reality. The sight of the brown mass stopped her as quickly as if she had hit it. Her heart was jumping inside her chest threatening to break free. She glanced behind her in fear of being caught more times in the few seconds she paused than she thought possible. As the carriage lazily passed from her path it revealed the dark blue uniform standing across from her that those on the street learned to fear.

"Stop her THIEF! THEIF!" came the rasping, deep voice of a man who dips into his vending cart for a snack far too often. His words were slurred as his thick body gasped for more air than his lungs could hold.

The words startled her, finding the escape she so desperately needed she turned the corner and ran full speed past the unfamiliar buildings. With the cop chasing her the portly vendor accepted his defeat. His reasoning now suggested that the money he lost in stolen merchandise was not worth the pain his body was currently experiencing. He rested his plump hands on his knees in an effort to maintain his breathing and remained there beaten by his own physical inability.

And then there were two.

The shrill sound of the high pitch whistle filled her ears as she expertly ran through the streets of Brooklyn. Years of the streets had taught her valuable tricks that had saved her many times. The plan required little thought since it was used so often it came to her naturally. She rounded every corner as sharply as she could, without falling, in the hopes of losing her pursuer. Once she was far enough ahead that he lost sight of her in those first few seconds she was on a new block she would steal her opportunity. In the thirty-second window of time that she had she would run into the first building on the block and hide inside. Normally, a cop would continue running straight not noticing the closing door of that first building. On occasion an intelligent officer would want to search within, being too wise to be fooled by this plan. That's when the streets stepped in to save her. This was Brooklyn after all, and unless she had run into some snobby aristocrat's house, those in the building wouldn't rat her out. She took the first chance she got and moved as quickly as her tired feet could carry her. Without stopping to notice anything of her surroundings she chose a building and acted immediately. She didn't stop running once inside either. Her feline eyes noticed the stairs instantaneously and scaled them with great ease. She pulled open the sole door at the top of the stairs and began scanning the room for a place to hide.

Instead she found ice cold cerulean eyes penetrating through her own pale green ones. Attached to those steely eyes was a boy. His sun kissed hair dropped heavily into his face, framing his crystal orbs. His perfect jaw line, currently clenched, warned of both his strength and displeasure. Any doubts were silenced by his equally well chiseled physique. His partly covered body radiated confidence even caught in this vulnerable state. He pulled his shirt on slowly as if regretting having to cover his muscles for any reason. His height was not an exceptional strong point for him, although not a soul took notice, not even himself. Had those eyes been soft the girl would have swooned from his devastatingly good looks. However, the ice built up within them held her frozen within their glare. They forced their way past her walls with their sharpness, piercing right into her soul. Desperately she struggled to rebuild those walls and protect her vulnerability. The failed attempt brought her predatory instinct back and she attempted to read straight through him as he had done. The jaggedness became too much for her as the crystals effortlessly continued cutting their way into her deeper and deeper. It was unbearable as much as it was impossible to tear her gaze away. Her viridian orbs were defeated. All they could see were those penetrating eyes, and all he saw was an intruder.

Within seconds he had crossed the room without breaking his glare. Upon closer inspection she recognized disgust within the ice, she reacted slightly furrowing her brow unintentionally. He ignored her questioning stare as he grabbed her arm and began leading her down the stairs. Her breathing was still not under control and the expert runner found it difficult to keep the boy's pace. His grip on her arm tightened and she focused on the new pain in her arm. The length of the stairs seemed unending as she wriggled in every direction she could in an attempt to free herself from the pain. With her first step on flat ground she ripped away from his fingers, sampling only a portion of the strength his body possessed. She rubbed her arm knowing a bruise was forming beneath her soft touch. Anger flowed through her veins replacing even the thought of fear at the situation. Anger gave her the bravery to address him.

"What the fuck are you doing?!?" The anger poured out of her solidly hitting the wall in his eyes. It bounced off leaving him unaffected and her frustrated. He smirked. Mocking her anger with his calmness he leaned back against the white-washed wall, and slowly took out and lit a cigarette. Taking his time to frustrate her more he took a long drag from it, enjoying every moment of having smoke-filled lungs. His voice came calmly speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. It was devoid of all emotion other than simple amusement.

"You walked into my room without permission" As if she should have known this. He took another drag, the enjoyment of his cigarette was heightened as he watched the anger take control of the girl. While clearly stronger than her, his age made him seem unthreatening. Normally, she would have feared him afraid of being violated or killed. Instead she felt betrayed by this street-boy, clearly not much better off than herself. Her misplaced anger at his hypocritical disrespect outweighed the logic that would have told her that she had interrupted him in his own room. This emotion displayed itself upon her every feature.

The chestnut silk spun from her head and lay in perfect patterns against her back. The natural honey highlights only existed in those pieces near her face. She was forever pushing them back, currently in anger. They fell back over her head aligning themselves with the pieces that permanently resided there. This perfect mixture of chocolate and caramel lasted only momentarily, the lightness knowing it didn't belong. It fought its way back forward trying optimistically to brush against her soft skin. She was constantly rejecting them, and throwing the unwanted highlights back, but they refused to stay. Her light emerald eyes turned to daggers, trying to stab a hole in her opponents perfect bulwark. Steel is no match against stone, and the fire burned dim in her eyes despite the anger that fueled it. Her unpainted lips were trembling as the rage needed an outlet to be released through. They were bitten roughly. The ripped pieces of pink skin were visible and unattractive to look at. The overly-bitten mess matched her devoured raw nails. The boy's clothing she wore were too loose fitting to see much of her form. The only thing obvious was that she was too skinny. Her bitten features already suggested a slight lack of food. The streets feed their children poorly.

"I walked into your room without permission?" She accused with frustration replacing the anger on her features. Her voice broke as she still fought for control over her breathing. The tone in her voice threateningly asking the question are you serious? She released the anger on those loving caramel highlights, abusing them every time they dared near her delicate face.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" She asked apparently thinking herself intimidating, as she took a step toward him menacingly, still accusing him of thinking himself better than her.

He scoffed at her vain attempt and without removing the cigarette from his mouth he grabbed her arm again skillfully in the same place as before, causing her to wince slightly in pain. He violently walked her toward the door, his fingers digging into her skin. Her first struggle against his tight grip proved educational when she released herself from the agony much more quickly this second time. She didn't stop to massage her bruised skin this time, instead she showed no symptoms of pain and arrogantly walked herself towards the door. She turned once shooting him a look that a wiser man would have feared. He remained unmoved and with his newly freed hand took another drag of his cigarette. After exhaling he spoke again as billowy white smoke escaped with his words.

"I'm Brooklyn" He did not look at her as he responded he focused on the smoke being released from his lips in perfect O's. They served to amuse him more than she did at the moment, as though she should be honored he chose to answer her rhetorical question at all.

The second look she threw him would have inspired a chill through the confident body of the smoker had he bothered to look at the girl. In her anger she spat back at him venomously before leaving.

"No I am".


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the newsies or any characters from the movie I do own any characters you don't recognize from the movie

Rewritten because I couldn't stand not to anymore.

**Heart of Brooklyn**

_Chapter 3_

Her feet were propelling her forward involuntarily. The only thing that her mind could focus on was the anger that was swimming in her blood. She released the heat in her arms through the natural swinging motion as she walked. She felt betrayed by this boy; his clothing suggested that he was not much better off financially than herself. It reaffirmed her belief that people were to be avoided at all costs. Everyone had a theory about the cause of her antisocial tendencies, an abusive childhood, a lost love, betrayal by those she trusted. None of these were correct. She had been depending on herself her entire life, and she didn't find it necessary to begin trusting people other than herself.

Out of anger, she turned to face the building she'd just been thrown out of. Her intention was to aim rude gestures at the building in the hopes that the boy might see her. Three words stopped her from this display and a fear crept its way into her adrenaline-filled veins before she could consciously stop it. _Newsboys Lodging House. _It wasn't these words themselves that had ignited the fear to spread through her body, but these three coupled with his words _I'm Brooklyn_, forced her to realize whom she'd just encountered.

_Spot Conlon._ Despite the fact that the sun shone upon her with every intention of destroying her with its heat, she suddenly felt cold. She'd heard the rumors; unfortunately, the course of her life hadn't prevented her from complete isolation. She'd heard all the stories, his violent rise to leadership, the mutilation of his enemies, the charm he exuded towards the opposite sex. Factory life had provided her with these rumors and despite the fact that he'd hardly seemed dangerous moments before, with this name attached to the boy she'd previously scolded for rudeness, he was petrifying.

He was leader of the Brooklyn newsies, certainly every Brooklynite had heard of him. The infamous rumors that circled him were not prejudicial to social standing. No matter how luxurious a home was Spot Conlon could sneak his way in through the mouths of their young. Every facet of society talked about him. The younger boys were impressed with the stories of violence and heroic fights they had heard, while the older teens wished for his ability with women. It occurred to neither of these groups of admirers that there was more to being a leader than fistfights and women. Those wealthy boys would never have touched women of the social class Spot readily slept with. They were ignorant to these truths, and of course, the rumors of the few upper class women Spot had seduced reaffirmed their belief that if he truly existed he was to be admired.

As she walked her, stomach growled causing her enough pain to become desperate to fill it. The food she had stolen was not enough to keep the biting hunger at bay. Her common sense took over telling her it was time she found another job in the realm of society so that she could obtain money for food. Factory work was absolutely unbearable, she was lucky that she'd learned to survive living on the streets because if she'd felt the necessity of a place of to live she would have been trapped in one of these factories until it caused her death. Twelve to fourteen hours of strenuous work where danger lurked in every machine. She'd seen appendages removed from co-workers by the unapologetic metal scraps. They continued on working, unaware they'd devastated a human's life. The smell of sweat and blood tainted these factories, and the supervisor's office often leaked the scent of sex. There had to be another way

Naturally, because of her encounter with Spot Conlon, it seemed that being a newsie was her best option. Brooklyn hated herself for coming to this conclusion, if she'd only thought of this idea yesterday before insulting the leader of the Brooklyn newsies she may have had a chance at success. She released her anger by kicking loose rocks as she walked. She wondered if it were possible for one boy to prevent her from working as a newsie. It had never occurred to her to pay much attention to the filthy boys that roamed the streets carrying a large bundle of black and white newspapers in their ink-stained hands. She resented the fact that her position in life was so low becoming a newsie seemed appealing.

"Will you buy a pape, miss. A penny a pape!" She turned her attention to the boy's cry, and crossed the distance between them curiously. His face lit up at her attention, and he removed one paper from the stack and held it out to her. She showed him her palms.

"Do I look like I have a penny" She replied honestly, so not to offend the boy by not buying from him. He frowned, and began looking around for his next sale. Her original intention was to start a conversation with this boy, and obtain information about his profession. Instead, he did not regard her with any interest after realizing that she would not lead to a sale, and she had to follow him in order to have her questions answered.

"Hey, kid!" She called after him when he took a few steps away from her and toward potential clients. He seemed annoyed, and was probably scolding himself for having spoken to Brooklyn in the first place.

"What do you want?" He asked, the groan in his voice was unmistakable. This was the second time that a newsie had treated her as a creature below himself on the evolutionary chain, and she was growing tired of it.

"Same thing you do." She began, trying to prove her worth through their similarities. "Make some money," She continued, gesturing to the stack of papers cradled beneath his arms. His eyes followed hers, and after grasping her meaning, he raised his eyebrows in opposition.

"You wanna sell papers?" The tone of his voice was clearly meant to discourage her from any further thought on the matter.

"Yeah, so what?" Anger bubbled to the surface of her lips, and was carried away from her body with her words. This day had brought her twice to members of her own class who betrayed her. She was unsure what sort of exclusive society the newsies thought they were, but she had never had fellow working class youths offer such little help to her.

"I'm Brandy" His intention was obviously not to offend her, and he introduced himself by way of apology, extending his hand to her as a peace offering. His manners surprised her, it was the last thing she had expected, her prejudiced opinion of the newsies based only on the actions of their leader. His hand felt calloused, and the dry skin scratched her palm. She couldn't help but notice that the dirt beneath his fingernails matched her own.

"Brooklyn" She responded, and continued, "It's my name" in response to the confused look his features distorted into at her stating the name of the borough they were standing in. He ran his dirt-covered fingers through his dark, greasy hair. It did not move back toward his face when he was finished, but instead the strands of hair remained where his fingers had positioned them. His nostrils were flared from indecision, and she noticed that the shape of his nose wider than her own, bubbling at the top.

"If you wanna be a newsie you're gonna have to talk to Spot" He finally answered her question, and relaxed his nostrils his mind at peace with his decision. She couldn't help but wonder if this was the criteria for all those who aspired to be a newsie, or if her gender required special permission from their boss.

"Spot Conlon?" She asked, her body involuntarily being overcome with that same feeling of coldness. It shouldn't have surprised her that becoming a newsie would result in further encounters with their leader. Brooklyn worried that her previous altercation with the King of Brooklyn would prevent her from earning enough money to feed herself.

"The one and only" Brandy responded obviously accustomed to the look that had crossed her face. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the recognition followed by the fear. With women however, it was usually curiosity that colored their features at the mention of the infamous newsie

She looked into his eyes and smiled into them, displaying her gratitude for the information. The color within them was something she'd never seen before; it could only be classified as yellow. It was a dull yellow though, a mixture of the usually bright color with a deep earth brown. He returned her gesture and turned to continue his hunt for a customer.

"Wait! Where do I find him?" She called after him, determined not let an irrational fear of Spot Conlon keep her from earning a living.

"Distribution center" He called to her from over his shoulder, adjusting the papers in his arms to hold them more comfortably. Thankfully, she knew where that was so she wasn't forced to harass this boy any longer.

She tried to turn her fear of Spot into a rational, justifiable fear of his power over her future as a newsie. She was not far enough detached from herself to be convinced of its truth. When fear enters the heart of a Brooklynite, that infamous pride kicks in and the only choice left is to dispose of it immediately. Brooklyn knew better then to let the fear of a single boy deter her from something as important as money. No fear was worth risking the security of steady pay, a full stomach, and the possibility of a place to seep. Her thoughts returned once more to the factories. The real danger that they posed surpassed the irrational fear of a boy who'd done nothing to harm her, and she chose to face him again.

He hadn't been so unbearably terrifying when she'd intruded on him in his private room. He hadn't physically harmed or threatened her for her insubordination. She had been able to scold him for his rudeness without fear compromising her demeanor, and she'd survived to obsess about it. This fact assured her that the reputation of Spot Conlon was likely the result of self-started rumors that had no basis in reality.

With the sky growing dark from all the time she'd wasted inside her own mind, she decided she would sleep in the most convenient place for the night. She curled herself up behind a dumpster in an alleyway. The large block of metal, it was made of protected her from freezing in the cool summer night wind. It also prevented her from being seen, a key concept in protecting oneself against the dangers of the streets is to become invisible. The uneven gravel beneath her was familiar, and if it weren't for her mind agonizing over the events that would follow the next day, she would have found sleep much sooner.

The sun that awoke her the next morning was irritatingly optimistic. Its bright rays tried to force the fear out of her veins with its warmth and reassurance. As she approached the building she saw the wagons parked behind it, the carts attached overflowing with the daily paper. Although unaware of it, she would not have the same enemies selling in Brooklyn as they faced in other boroughs. An employee of the distribution office would never sell a newsie even a single paper short than what he asked for. Not that it hadn't been attempted, but anyone to cheat a Brooklyn newsie had to answer to Spot. After a few rumor-inspiring fights with dishonest employees, it was understood that this behavior would not be tolerated, punishable by physical retaliation.

When she reached the front, she saw a line of newsies circling the building. These boys were anything but docile at this time of the morning; they already had more energy than she had at midday. She noticed the noise first, the sheer volume that this many boys could produce was shocking to her. Their muddled line contained boys engaged in fights, dice games, and cigarette smoking. They were a rambunctious lot and for all the boys she saw that morning, she could not find Spot anywhere. Brandy recognized her from the day before, although she didn't notice his presence next to her until he spoke.

"Spot let you be a newsie?" Those dingy marigold eyes searched for an answer beneath a furrowed brow. Obviously, despite his help the previous day, he did not expect to ever see her again. It occurred to Brooklyn at that moment that she was currently standing on line to receive newspapers. It seemed possible to do this without obtaining Spot's permission. She decided it was in her best interest not to tell this boy she hadn't spoken to him.

"Well, he's not stopping me" Technically this wasn't a lie. Spot wasn't stopping her from becoming a newsie, because he was completely unaware that she was doing it. She was shocked she hadn't thought of this before. It's ludicrous to believe that Spot could take notice of every newsie that sold throughout the wide borough of Brooklyn.

"How'd you do it?" he asked raising his eyebrows to allow the shock to enter into his eyes. He took a drag of the cigarette Brooklyn had failed to notice was in his left hand.

"Do what?" she asked barely registering the conversation. Her focus has shifted entirely to the small while stick of tobacco that was in Brandy's hand. The smell intoxicated her and every cell in her body desired to be filled with the sweet scent of tobacco.

"Convince Spot to let a girl be a newsie," He continued unaware of her current obsession with his cigarette.

"Huh?" It wasn't her intention to ignore the boy who'd helped her yesterday. She just could not possibly pay attention to a thing he was saying with that cigarette burning so seductively in his hand. At the sound of his voice, she dragged her attention away from it and listened to his words.

"We've never had a girl newsie in Brooklyn before. All I've ever heard Spot say about it is that it would make Brooklyn look soft." She had no response to this; she only hoped that the line would move fast enough so that if he did appear he wouldn't notice the single girl among the throng of boys waiting for their papers. He continued despite her silence. "So how'd you change his mind?"

"She didn't." A third voice intervened and she immediately recognized it from the previous day. She released a slur of obscenities internally. Since her new plan had failed, she resorted back to the original, which required obtaining Spot's permission. This was going to be more difficult now because it seemed that she had tried to deceive him.

Brooklyn did not find any recognition in his face, nor did she find a trace of anger. She took this as a positive sign, and waited to be addressed so that she could appeal for acceptance into the society of Brooklyn newsies. He placed a cigarette between his lips, and after slowly striking a match on his shoe, lit it. His attention was consumed by the small tobacco stick, and he did not seem to remember she was standing before him.

"Leave" His voice was coated with authority, and the belief that his desires would not be contradicted. White smoke billowed from between his lips, warming her face as it hovered over her. She was incredulous at his arrogance, could he really believe that from the uttering of a solitary word she would be compelled to retreat. His tranquil demeanor caused her arteries to heat with angry blood. Her heart pumped out this laced liquid quickly and before she could respond, it had filled every corner of her body.

"No?" Through her voice, she released some of the fire that was burning through her veins. She raised her eyebrows abruptly the movement expelling some of the intensity from her body. With every heartbeat more was pumping through her body, she felt consumed by anger. It was beyond her comprehension that this boy would have expected any other answer from her.

"Here Spot I got you a hundred and fifty papers" A breathless sandy-haired newsie passed the cumbersome load of papers from his own weak hands to Spot's capable ones. He lifted the large bundle as though it were a single paper, and nodded his head in recognition to his admirer. The young newsie, barely reaching Spot's elbow in height, beamed wildly at his own brush with greatness. Brooklyn felt that she was going to be sick from his undeserving power.

"Listen, kid" He regarded her insignificantly as if she were a stray dog. A group of boys had ceased in their antics to watch their leader display his dominance over the only girl they'd ever seen on the distribution line.

"You can't be a newsie" he paused for dramatic affect, taking amusement in the humiliation of the girl before him.

"But I can think of another way you could earn some money" He reached an arm up and pushed the hair back behind her shoulder at his words. He traced his eyes over her body, obnoxiously displaying his lust for the amusement of his fellow newsboys. Catcalls and loud whistles drowned Brooklyn's indignation. This was the charm that had the women of New York submit to his will? Her greatest desire at that moment was to slap him across the face with a closed fist. She narrowed her feline eyes, releasing the poisoning anger through the blazing fire within them.

"I choose newsie" She responded, her voice completely serious as though the choice between newsie and Spot's whore was real. Snickers passed through the crowd at witnessing their leader being turned down. She attempted to move around him, but his hardened chest blocked her path and he tranquilly took a drag on his cigarette to keep himself in the indifferent demeanor that mocked her. He glared into her eyes, the icicles within his had been sharpened for this very purpose, he protruded through her layers, further and further into her until she wanted desperately to break his gaze. She refused, the flame dancing dully within her own orbs attempting to push his glare back, and hold it at an impenetrable distance.

"Not in Brooklyn" The words were dangerous and threatening. She couldn't understand exactly why her body felt so cold, but involuntarily she shivered from it. At this he smirked, his eyes gazed victoriously into hers. Still smirking from his victory, he turned and sauntered off his ego inflated for the time being. She could have strangled herself for shuddering under his glare.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies or any characters from the movie only characters not from the movie.

**Heart of Brooklyn**

_Chapter 4_

Stubbornness and determination had led her to the only decision plausible to make: she would have to leave Brooklyn. It was never her intention to leave the borough that was her namesake, but in the face of returning to the danger of the factories, a change of scene was hardly comparable. She would not allow Spot Conlon to be the reason she returned to that enslavement. His influence only extended over one borough and New York was a large enough place that she would be able to find work selling papers elsewhere. She crossed the bridge on foot, disheartened because she was unsure if she would ever return. The streets of Brooklyn had been her home throughout her life, she knew them as intimately as she knew herself.

After only a few blocks the difference between Brooklyn and Manhattan was apparent to the young girl. Everyone that she encountered on the streets was in a hurry, and aware of their destination. There was no room to dawdle when time was so precious, and the sidewalks so overcrowded.

She moved aimlessly, but quickly deeper into the heart of Manhattan. She hadn't a clue in which direction the lodging house was located, but the ever darkening sky was propelling her to move forward and find it as quickly as she could. She had created a plan to solve this exact dilemma before she'd crossed the bridge. Finally, she heard what her ears had been craving to hear since she'd entered the borough, the desperate call of a headline floating over the other sounds of the city. When she finally matched a face to the noise she'd been relieved to hear she refused to remove her gaze. With the streets full of people, the newsie didn't realize that a girl was following him home.

She entered this lodging house with less confidence, since last time she was avoiding a dangerous situation and this time she was entering one. A single wooden desk furnished the room, the only place to sit was on the large staircase that led to the area above. Stains darkened random areas of the desk and walls creating a pattern of unknown grime. Suddenly she felt uneasy, the stubbornness that had been driving her rash actions on this day was finally subsiding to exhaustion. She had come this far however, and there was no excuse, other than unacceptable fear, for turning back now. Brooklyn wished she'd formed a plan of action before she'd entered the lodging house. The desire to prove to herself that Spot Conlon could not control her life decisions had flushed her of all logic until that point. Closing her eyes she willed her legs to ascend the stairs, refusing to allow the entrance of reason to renew the fear.

"What the hell?" screamed the short newsie who'd made use of the only sitting area in the lobby, his lounging interrupted by the distracted girl who nearly stepped on top of him. His speech was slurred by the cigar that dangled from his lips. The ash that had fallen onto his clothing was being violently shaken from the fabric, his dark hair flying wildly about his head from the exertion. Brooklyn was so startled she nearly fell down the stairs. She regained her balance after physically holding her hand to heart to cease its erratic beating. The nerves permeated through her at a quicker pace than anger traveled, and she adjusted her breathing to try to gain control over her nerves.

"Oh! Shit I'm sorry I didn't see you-" She blurted out before she could think of something more intelligent to say. She ran her fingers through her own hair attempting to restore some semblance of order to the curtain currently covering her face, as well as her fast pumping arteries.

"Who are you?" His dark eyes conveyed curiosity instead of demanding subordination from her. Her brain ached to find the explanation she should have already invented. The almond eyes implored an answer from her, and before she could complete the story within her own mind, she was forced to respond to the immediate question posed.

"I'm Brooklyn" Following her statement her fingers immediately found her mouth. She focused her attention on clearing the dirt from beneath her nails with her teeth. The habit helped release the excess nervous energy that plagued her demeanor.

"I guess I don't need to ask where you're from" The light sarcasm characteristic of the Manhattan newsies exposed itself, and Brooklyn furrowed her brows in confusion. She continued searching her mind for the key that would allow her to fulfill her newly established goal of becoming a newsie. The boy in front of her kept interrupting her thoughts just when the possibility of success existed.

"I'm Racetrack, friends call me Race" He peeled himself from the discolored staircase, and extended his hand to her in greeting. She wondered if they were accustomed to unknown females welcoming themselves into their dwelling, based upon her polite reception. She accepted his hand skeptically, now that reason had returned to her being, she had expected a similar welcome to the one she received in Brooklyn.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her blowing white smoke from between his lips as he spoke. In a standing position she could asses that he was fairly short, despite the uneven ground beneath them. She scolded herself for not preparing for these unavoidable questions. If only she'd focused on the details of her rash plan than on the anger that fueled its execution. It wasn't until he smiled, an honest and friendly smile, that she decided the safest response would be the truth.

"I'm here to sell papers" she said as nonchalantly as she could, attempting to conceal the fact that she knew it wasn't common. Race returned the cigar to his lips, his intrigue obvious from his arched eyebrows.

"You're a newsie?" The question was meant to confirm what she'd already implied. His tone did not sound unbelieving, merely surprised, and she decided this was a positive sign. It meant the possibility for her to live as a newsie existed, and she was determined not to fail. She nodded, affirming his assumption that she was already employed as a newsie. She was mistaken in assuming the questioning would stop there.

"Why don't you run with Spot's newsies?" Race asked, raising an eyebrow and taking another drag from his cigar. The question was completely unexpected, and sent Brooklyn's mind into a frenzy to arrive at an answer quick enough so that he did not suspect she was creating it as she stood before him. She intentionally kept her mouth from gaping open while she stammered for the correct words, and spoke deliberately.

"He told me to come here" She furrowed her brow as if unnerved that he was not already aware. It had the desired effect, as Race's face colored with heavy thought. No doubt he was searching the corners of his mind for news of a Brooklyn newsie taking up residence in his home. His lips pulled into a frown as he removed the cigar from them, and his inviting eyes met hers again. They held indecision within them that vanished when he spoke.

"You'd better talk to Jack" It was clear that when in doubt the newsies referred all problems to their leaders. He motioned for Brooklyn to follow him as he finished the climb to the second story. Brooklyn's heart was pumping more fear through her body than blood. Every cell was distressed, and stimulated by the increased energy of her internal world. She silently hoped that her dishonesty would not be discovered, and that Jack would have no intention of checking on the validity of her statements. She put her trust in a hierarchy she was unfamiliar with.

The room at the top of the stairs was a maze of bunk beds, exact replicas of each bed lined the walls of the large room. Identical white sheets and a single matching pillow adorned each bunk. At the far corner of the room sat a large circular table with an abundance of chairs surrounding it. Along the left wall was the cutout of a doorway with no door in place, leading to a second room.

The noise assaulted her ears, leaving her feeling unnerved from the volume of boys the sounds suggested. They were stuffed inside the room, unconcerned with allowing enough space for easy movement. Most lounged on their bunks or the floor, immediately claiming any space they could as their own. The table housed a card game with more players than could all see the table at one time. Shouting, slamming and cheering erupted from various areas of the room, each group of boys were solely focused on their own activity. They obtained the ability to block out the noise unrelated to themselves. Boys flowed into the aisle between the bunks, consumed in dice and card games, attempting to increase their small margin of profit through chance. Cigarettes and cigars were ashed directly onto the wooden floor below them with no considerations for the stains and burns that were left behind. More boys fitted themselves into the overcrowded room, shaking towels violently against their heads in order to dry their washed hair.

She continued to follow Race, cursing her luck for Jack's position on the farthest side of the room. Although initially unnerved at being forced to pass nearly every boy in the room, their inviting smiles and friendly demeanors disproved her theory that they were all dangerous or cruel. The contrast between these teenage boys, and the belligerent gang of the Brooklyn newsies was astounding. The atmosphere in the bunkroom was one of lax and leisure that only friendship between its occupants can provide. It was shocking how quickly such an environment conned her into feeling comfortable. It was necessary to remind herself that she had not been granted permission to stay, despite the fact that her nervousness of being turned away had vanished since entering their headquarters.

The bunk they halted in front of housed an uncommonly tall boy on its top bunk. His legs hung off the side of his bed and he could nearly rest his foot on the one below him. The dark, greasy hair that lay askew atop his head was hatless, and uncontrolled. The deep brown cowboy hat covered his face instead, blocking out the sunlight that illuminated the room. A crimson bandana was comfortably tied about his neck, a touch that disconnected with his urban, dull-colored clothing.

"Jacky-boy" Without removing the hat from his face Jack responded to his comrade, his voice deep and authoritative. It was clear from his tone that Jack was able to rule with mutual respect flowing between himself and his newsies, none of the domination and control over his followers was inflected in his words.

"What do you want Race" Proving her suspicions of Jack's leadership being free from fear, Race removed the hat from his superior's face and shoved it jokingly into his stomach.

"There's a newsie here from Brooklyn" Jack immediately sat up to acknowledge the newsie sent from his comrade's borough. Initially Brooklyn registered a concern in his milk chocolate orbs that was reflected in the fair features of his now visible face. Upon realizing that the newsie was a female the features morphed into a representation of surprise. Race seemed slightly uneasy at his leader's obvious lack of knowledge about her arrival.

"What?" The leader of the Manhattan newsies responded inarticulately, prying himself from his leisure position on the bed in order to observe the girl before him. Brooklyn embraced the newfound confidence from the atmosphere of the room, and the understanding that anyone would take her seriously after being associated with Spot.

"I'm Brooklyn" She smiled, attempting to convey her sweet nature through her pale emerald eyes. It was meant to prove that despite her female status she could easily fit into her new environment, even though it was a drastic change from the constant defensive nature she was accustomed to.

"I thought Spot was Brooklyn" Jack's eyes sparkled with amusement, and Brooklyn was conflicted over whether to laugh or be concerned that he was testing the truth of her association with the Brooklyn newsies. As the fear crept its way back into her veins, she began to consider her options if she was exiled from the Manhattan newsies as well.

Catcalls and cheers conquered the room, spreading themselves as far as the physical restraints of the room would allow. With her nerves already stretched, the unexpected noise forced her fingernails between her teeth as she turned to face the source of the commotion. Her stubborn hair followed the abrupt movement of her head, resting itself against her shoulder and capturing the perspiration that began to escape from her neck.

"Hey what happened?" Jack's booming voice projected itself above the obnoxious sounds filling the room. It was clear to Brooklyn that although domination was not a measure of his authority, he had the ability to command the respect and attention of the boys even with a friendly inquiry.

"Blink won a game!" A faceless member of the rowdy newsboys called in response. Although this information was useless to Brooklyn, recognition played across the features of both Racetrack and Jack. The leader nudged his follower playfully in the arm, sharing in an amusement that Brooklyn was excluded from.

"Did he just say Blink won a game?" Jack asked, sending a wink to Brooklyn as if attempting to include her in a conversation that was impossible for her to understand the humor in.

"You going deaf Jacky-boy?"

"Nah, I just don't believe it. Blink won a game!" Jack screamed, drawing the attention of the crowd to himself. He removed the bandana from around his neck and swung it above his head in celebration of his friend's accomplishment. He continued his screaming, over-enthusiasm dominated his features and voice, in an obvious attempt to embarrass who he praised. "That ought to be a headline tomorrow! This is a day in history!"

"Shut up, Cowboy" Returned an eye-patch wearing blonde, raising himself to his full height as though even from a distance his stance would intimidate his comrades to cease in their mockery. "I've won games before"

"It don't count when you play by yourself, Blink" Race called over to him. The sound of laughter resonated off the walls of the lodging house. Brooklyn couldn't help joining in herself, the nervousness expelled itself from her body through the action. It was replaced by an overwhelming sense of tranquility. The entire room was a whirlwind of teasing and jokes transferring from one set of boys to another, each getting proper respect when they beat another newsie in the friendly sarcastic battle.

"What are you doing in Manhattan?" Jack asked finally getting his laughter under control, and returning to the girl in his bunkroom. Brooklyn desired to remain in this world of amusement and casual authority. Becoming a newsie in Brooklyn would have been a constant battle to prove herself to Spot and to all the newsies of the lodging house. Here, she would be enveloped into this friendly bubble that these boys protected themselves from the harshness of the streets with. Although it was harder to lie this time, there was no chance of changing her story when she'd already related one to Race.

"Spot sent me to sell here" It wasn't a lie, Spot had practically insisted that she take herself somewhere else in order to become a newsie. If Spot's reputation had been carried across the bridge to Manhattan then she was ensured entry into this world, no one would dare oppose Spot Conlon's order.

"Why?" His eyes searched through Brooklyn's viridian ones, scanning for something she desperately wished she could show him. His eyes were soft, luring out the honest emotion to the brink of her irises where it could be read. Once again she searched her inner mind for the answer that she didn't have prepared. Only one response seemed acceptable, and since she did not have time to debate and consider the possible ramifications of any answer, she spoke it with a sincerity she believed herself.

"He didn't tell me why" She absorbed the floor below her with her eyes to hide her fear that her words wouldn't be believed. Jack assumed that it was out of shame at her own inferiority as a female newsie, especially under Spot Conlon's leadership. As she had suspected this invented behavior resembled Spot's personality and the fact that he would order a newsie to another borough with no further explanation than "It's an order" was easily believed by the Manhattan newsies.

"Let's find you a bunk" Jack responded, gracefully lowering himself from his resting place, in order to escort his newest newsie to her bed.

"Thanks Jacky-boy" The tranquility had overcome her, and she closed her eyes in embarrassment to pretend she hadn't spoken aloud. The constant use of the nickname had engrained itself into her brain, and was released through her undisciplined lips. Race couldn't contain his amusement, increasing Brooklyn's embarrassment with his laughter.

"Hey you got to be here at least a week before you can call me Jacky-boy" His voice cracking through his own soft laughter at her blunder. The amusement in his eyes ignited the return of the tranquility to her body. She attempted to smile humbly in apology, but was unable to fully allow the emotion to register in her eyes when Race drew her attention away from her new leader.

"You're alright, kid" Race playfully punched her in the arm as she followed Jack through the rows of bunk beds to the one she could finally claim as her own property in the overcrowded living quarters.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies, I do own characters not from the movie

**Heart of Brooklyn**

Chapter 5

The sound of a deep, shaky voice implanted itself into her mind, and stimulated her brain cells to awaken. Although she was used to rising at the crack of dawn, she was unaccustomed the luxuries of a mattress and blanket. The excitement of having a bed ignited the lethargic desire to remain in it the entire day. She rose, stretching the exhaustion from her limbs and forcing them to move her in the direction of the doorway.

She entered into a room containing rows of matching sinks, and shaving newsboys. Fragmented mirrors hung above these sinks trying to create a perfect image out of their cracked and frayed pieces. The room smelled of an over-abundance of boys without enough room to promote the hygiene of them all. She was greeted with a constant repetition of good mornings, and tried, despite her grogginess to display the same friendliness back. The moment a sink became available she claimed it for herself, realizing right away that in a place where boys outnumbered everything, she'd have to be fast.

"Heya Brooklyn how'd you sleep last night?" asked Race, as she dried her face with a towel. She was grateful for his constant attempt to make her feel comfortable in her new home.

"Hey your name's Brooklyn?" The first time poker winner interrupted, his adjacent placement to Brooklyn gave him the advantage of overhearing the conversation. A black eye patch covered his left eye, and the only one that remained visible had captured the color of sky and displayed it proudly. The hair that flowed from his head was sunshine blonde, and it shook violently with his every movement. His height was intimidating in comparison with her small frame, but his smile removed any fear that his build might inspire.

"Let me guess, you thought Spot was Brooklyn right?" She said rolling her sage eyes at the constant comparison between herself and the arrogant Brooklyn leader. Blink raised his visible eyebrow, and latched onto a passing Jack, including him their conversation.

"This girl is reading my mind, Jack" The smile on Blink's face was foolishly benevolent, engrossing the new girl in his circle of unconditional friendship only moments after meeting her.

"C'mon now Blink you don't have a mind" Jack responded playfully before continuing his trek across the room on a hunt for an available sink.

"Took the words right out of my mouth Jacky-boy" Race yelled to his retreating form, and inspiring a soft laugh from Brooklyn. Despite her best attempts not to offend her new acquaintance, she couldn't help finding these witty jabs undeniably amusing.

"Don't listen to those idiots" Blink addressed Brooklyn, presenting her with a wink as he wrapped an arm around his companion's neck tightening Race into a headlock. "My names Blink by the way"

"I know, you're the one who won a game for the first time last night, right?" With Race still struggling beneath his unyielding grip, Blink ceased in movement and dropped his jaw dramatically in a picture of feigned offense.

At the sound of Jack's authoritative whistle the newsies ceased in their conversations and amusements, and followed their leader to another day of hard work on the unclean streets of Manhattan. In this borough it wasn't pride that caused their objection to pity, it was merely that they felt undeserving of it. Although these children were fighting for the money and opportunity to survive to see the next morning, they enjoyed themselves too much to consider their lives defeated. The fact that their dirt-smeared faces, ink-stained hands, and tattered clothing would seem pitiful to a society that ignored them, they regarded themselves as lucky. The Manhattan newsies were sustained by a sense of family, loyalty and trust that they had never known before the newsies.

Brooklyn attributed this harmonious existence to Jack's humanity as a leader. She assumed that it was the leader that established the atmosphere of his borough, instead of considering that he was merely a victim of the environment that raised him.

She stood on the distribution line, repressing her anger at the thought that she'd been forced to leave the same situation the previous day. Large black bars checkered the distribution window, distorting the images of the employees within. A large bellied man hunched himself over a large, grime-ridden book, keeping accurate numbers of papers sold. Next to him alternated two teenage boys counting and sliding the requested number of papers beneath the bars.

"How much money you got?" Race's friendly voice returned Brooklyn's senses from her observations.

"None. I haven't sold any papers yet." She answered assuming he was displaying some of the Manhattan wit she was becoming accustomed to.

"Yea, well they don't give them out for free" Despite the lack of mockery in Race's tone, Brooklyn's cheeks flushed a light crimson color as the heat of embarrassment consumed her entire body, not only for her ignorance, but for her penniless status.

"I have to buy them?" She asked her eyes closed, assessing the dilemma from the inside of her brain. She condemned herself for being so unprepared and willed herself out of the situation.

"Yea of course" he informed her, confusion lacing his voice. His brows furrowed into a line patiently awaiting an explanation. "Spot sent you with no money?"

She explored the inner workings of her mind for the explanation that would free her from this predicament. She ran her fingers through her hair, grabbing at the loose strands to stimulate the thought process in the organ beneath them. He must have sensed her discomfort because he continued before she could offer any excuse for herself.

"Don't worry I'll spot you the money" he said, exposing the coins in his hands, a reassuring smile placed across his lips for her comfort. "How many do you sell?"

"Thirty" She repeated the number she'd heard demanded by a newsie with a long crutch thrust beneath his arm.

"Not bad" Brooklyn felt the relief flow through her being via her blood, warming her entire body. She blocked out her previous embarrassment and thanked Race sincerely, despite the looming hatred of accepting help from someone. She assured him that she'd pay him back from her profits of that very day, although he shrugged it off as unimportant. The idea that these unwashed boys considered it an obligation to help each other was unnerving to her. For these underprivileged youths to understand more about charity and human compassion than their wealthy counterparts was shocking.

She approached the window cautiously, focusing on not making any other mistakes. The large man seemed to be expanding as she moved closer to the window. Immediately she shifted her gaze to the boy beyond the bars, patiently waiting to be instructed on how many papers to release. He looked sinister and unclean, his mustache twitching repulsively with each intake of breath. She smiled assuming her interactions would be in accordance with the amiable welcome she'd received thus far.

"Thirty papes" she ordered, imitating the actions of her predecessors, slipping money beneath the bars, and watching the younger boy for her merchandise. With the papers in her grasp she felt a soft tug on a long strand of her hair. Assuming she had gotten the unruly mass caught on something, she adjusted her gaze to meet a long dirt covered finger twirling her hair around it.

"What's your name sweetheart?" The mustached boy asked her seriously, as though his fingers in her hair was not a revolting gesture. The indecent invitation in his blandly almond eyes sent a wave of repulsion through the girl's spinal cord.

"Don't fucking touch me" She released, her voice turning to a startling growl, her defensive nature immediately becoming the default in uncomfortable situations. She pried herself away from his grip, leaving the window open for her companion to assert himself. She was unprepared for the fact that the level of anger that colored Race's words surpassed her own.

"Keep your dirty hands off her, Morris" Race wrapped his fingers around the bars, as though the mere desire to pry them apart and murder the trash behind them would be enough to make it a reality. Jack softly pushed Race aside, becoming the focus of all the attention at the distribution center. He pointed an index finger through the bars at the overly hormonal employee, lowering his voice to a threatening tone Brooklyn could not believe he possessed.

"You touch one of my newsies again and I'll make sure you can't" He lightened his tone a bit, recognizing the fact that the newsies surrounding him were relying on him for their morning entertainment. "I'll let it go this time because I know you've never been that close to a girl before, but next time, control yourself"

This statement was rewarded with catcalls and high whistles from his comrades, and Jack Kelly smiled victoriously over the scum of the distribution office. The idea that these boys would defend her honor when it was attacked was completely foreign to her as her only experience had been in which the leader himself had been the one to insult her.

Selling papers had proven itself to be harder than she'd expected, it was nearly dusk before she had disposed of her measly thirty papers, and found the Horace Greeley statue that marked the home of the Manhattan newsies. With her stomach full from the food she'd spent nearly every cent of profit on, she desired nothing more than to climb the rickety staircase and fall into that soft, inviting bed.

"Excuse me, Miss" said the shaky voice that she recognized as the sound that had disrupted her peaceful sleep earlier. She turned slowly to face the man standing between herself and the precious rest she craved. "My names Kloppman. I run the Lodging House"

"Nice to meet you" She said as politely as she could to someone who she currently hated for his preventing her from leaving the room "I'm Brooklyn"

The old man smiled to himself, showing his uneven white teeth. Brooklyn rolled her eyes unintentionally when she realized the joke he was smiling to himself over. It'd be a long time before she could repeat her name without his persona being immediately compared with her own. He kindly explained to her that the residents of the lodging house had to pay a fee for that comfortable bed she so desperately wanted, and after paying him what he asked, she had exactly enough money to buy another thirty papers the next day.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies, I do own characters not from the movie

**Heart of Brooklyn**

_Chapter 6_

After the strike the relationship between Brooklyn and Manhattan had evolved from mutual respect and acknowledgement to one of close friendship. The reason for this change was the bond between the two leaders. Spot was not able to maintain deep friendships with his newsies, as it was necessary they regard him as an authority figure. Spot ruled his newsies with fear and respect instead of the admiration and love that gave Jack his power. The only Brooklyn newsie that was considered a friend to their distant leader, was his second in command, Ace. Even within this relationship Spot needed to be sure that his authority was never compromised. However, it wasn't necessary for Spot to constantly dominate over Jack to prove his superiority, and this allowed their relationship to become a friendship. To encourage the two boroughs to remain allies, bimonthly, the newsies hosted large poker parties alternating in location between Brooklyn and Manhattan. These gatherings were used as an excuse for the newsies to drink more alcohol, smoke more cigars and place higher bets than they normally would.

It was a Saturday, a little over a week had passed since Brooklyn's first day in Manhattan. Saturday, especially when the sun is determined to give the upper class a weekend of enjoyment from its burning rays, is the best day to choose a selling spot in or near a park. Those citizens who were lucky enough to be employed by respectable businesses were excused from the torture of their office jobs on the weekend. Courting couples, large unmanageable families, and lonely unmarried individuals found solace in the park on their lazy weekend days. Every father watching his children play, and spinster trying to escape her unsatisfying existence bought a paper. There was enough of a crowd for Race, Brooklyn and Blink to sell together in one park, joining each other for a lunch of hot dogs before preparing for the festivities that would take place that evening.

"I can't wait 'til Ace gets here" said Race widening his jaw in order to fill every empty space of his mouth with food. "I want to beat him tonight" He declared, pausing between each word to chew a bit more on the food that was overflowing from his open mouth.

"Don't you know it's rude to talk with your mouth full" Blink scolded him as bits of his own dinner escaped his mouth, the precious crumbs falling to the ground below. He rolled up a newspaper and swung it playfully at Races head. Years of friendship with this newsie had trained Race to avoid such blows by ducking, and when he returned to his full height he retorted with,

"It's also rude to try and hit me with a newspaper" He bared his stained teeth at his companions, his soft eyes alight with amusement.

"Nah that's just funny" Brooklyn chimed in pushing her chestnut and caramel locks away from her delicate features. The jade fire was crackling contently within her irises, enjoying every moment of witty banter between her new acquaintances. She expanded upon a conversation that had been abandoned. "Who's Ace?"

"Only the second best poker player in New York" Race responded, as if this were a generous way to describe his poker playing nemesis. His boyish build puffed up under his own implication of praise, demanding that his companions deflate this ego.

"You mean the best". Blink corrected, relishing in the look of betrayal that flashed across Race's face at the assertion that someone was better than himself. Brooklyn's smile faltered, as fear entered her genuinely light hearted internal state.

Anxiety consumed her entire being, pumped by her unrelenting heart through every facet of her body. She was dreading another encounter with the King of Brooklyn, as it threatened to expose her secret. She tried to calm herself with rationalizations that she no longer obtained the ability to change her circumstances. She wished she'd had the knowledge of the alliance, as well as the bimonthly gatherings that would be a constant source of distress, before she'd unleashed the vengeful lies on the newsies.

Upon entering the bunkroom she was met with the familiar predicament of finding a space for herself in the overcrowded bunkroom. The fact that they could stuff so many boys into one room was inconceivable, especially since more were on the way. The Brooklyn boys arrived in drones, large groups arrived independent of each other and only fueled her anxiety because at any moment Spot could enter the bunkroom without any warning. There was nothing she could do but wait for Spot to arrive and pray that it did not result in her expulsion from Manhattan. She accepted Jack's offer to teach her to play poker in an attempt to block the nerves from her mind and focus on something else. It was in vain, with every footstep that pounded against the uneasy wooden staircase she felt paralyzed. The room needed to expand in order to accommodate the boys who continued to file in. She could not fathom where Jack planned to put them all, but pushed thoughts of being surrounded by a crowd of male newsies from her mind. She needed only one source of anxiety at a time.

The constant crowds of boys had begun to make her feel uncomfortable, although she appreciated their friendliness she craved mere moments of the seclusion she had grown accustomed to. It was this feeling that had led her to seek solace on the roof. The discovery of this private hideaway had been a mere accident. She'd woken up in the velvet black of night, with the summer heat suffocating her. She did not believe there was a drop of oxygen left in that room to breath, and threw open the window in an attempt to present her lungs with the fresh air they craved. Once she had felt the pleasure of the cool air just on the other side of the thin pane of glass, she climbed through it sitting herself on the fire escape to enjoy the refreshing breeze.

Not wanting to wake anyone with the sound of her heavy breathing she silently climbed the fire escape and made herself comfortable on the roof. It was a bit sunken in and instead of being flat across there was one portion that was higher up acting as the roof to the attic which was only a small room above the bunkroom. When Brooklyn sat on the lower half of her roof, resting her back against the wall of the attic roof, and allowed her thoughts to float away into the open space she'd found the escape hatch to alone time she needed.

"Brooklyn, hey Brooklyn"

Jack's voice pulled on her senses until it was impossible not to focus on the scene before her. As their faces entered her view she was aware of a new presence to her company, the exact one she'd been dreading an encounter with. The logical portion of her mind scolded her for thinking Spot would not immediately immerse himself in a table where Jack and Ace were in attendance. The anxiety within her flared more passionately than before, and the nervous energy she created quickly turned to hatred for the boy across from her.

"What do you want, Jack?" He asked inattentive to the conversation that flowed around him. His eyes were focused on his cards, and without tearing his gaze from them he skillfully placed another coin in the center of the pot before him. His demeanor showed his annoyance at being addressed when clearly in a state of concentration.

"Not you, Brooklyn" Jack responded pressuring the girl not to take her time deciding between folding and calling. Spot finally removed his gaze from the cards in front of hi to study the newsie with his namesake. She had been hoping that perhaps he wouldn't recognize her, however the incredulous look that he projected toward her was undeniable. She met his gaze for a moment, but the fire burned too dimly to be of any use to her. The frosty blue was able to push inside her, using her nervousness as a catalyst to implant himself farther than the first time she'd seen those electric eyes. The anxiety was a stronger weakness than her surprise had been, and he effortlessly searched within her for whatever he desired. She tried to pull her eyes back to the cards below her, but he held her captive and she could not move until released.

"Is that why you sent her to Manhattan? To keep from getting confused?" Blink offered, chuckling obnoxiously at his own joke, while sending a throat full of beer between his lips. Spot turned his icy gaze upon Blink for an explanation, finally releasing Brooklyn from the torture. She stared at Blink sending every ounce of anger and desire for his silence to him through the orbs she had learned were less powerful than Spot's. Blink's one eye held enough confusion in her gaze to make her pity him, and she glanced down at her cards in surrender. Whatever was to happen were the consequences of her own actions, and she could blame no one but herself.

"I sent her here so you'd have a chance with a girl, you bum" Spot replied smacking his one-eyed friend in the back of the head with his fanned cards. Blink barely registered the comment, and continued altering his focus between his own set of cards, and the facial expressions of the other players. Brooklyn's eyes immediately found Spot's again, returning to the sight of a previous wound in an attempt to understand what had just occurred. He did not resume in his ability to cause her pain internally, and instead regarded her with an air of indecision. The exchange occurring between them was oblivious to the rest of the room, as they continued adding coins to the pot. Brooklyn had quit the game during this silent conversation, but could not bring herself to leave the table.

"Two Pair" Jack stated at he slammed his cards onto the table with an open palm. He adjusted the brick-colored bandana around his neck with his free hand, and raised his eyebrows in a challenge to Race. In response the dark complexioned Italian showed four aces to the room, and leaned across the table to mockingly inform Ace,

"Beat you with your own name" Only the copious amount of alcohol that was consumed at this poker table could have convinced Race that this would be a clever thing to say. He laughed at his own joke, amusing the only person it had been his objective to. The smile was stolen from Race's face when the cards that were put down in front of his nemesis showed a full house. Spot and Ace smirked at their friend's fallen features.

"C'mon Race, you know the best poker player has to come from Brooklyn" Spot comforted his friend with the idea that it was inevitable that he would lose to Ace.

Brooklyn rose with the rest of the defeated players and created room for new challengers to compete against the reigning champion of a deck of cards. It took little convincing for Brooklyn to cave and taste her first sip of beer. Immediately she despised the taste, but enjoyed the feeling that followed the bitter liquid's journey down her throat. Brooklyn, Race and Blink had moved their party to Race's bunk on the far side of the room from the card table. He was intaking a generous amount of alcohol to console himself for his public loss. Two Brooklyn newsies sauntered over to their group, Brooklyn immediately recognized one as Brandy.

"Race, have fun losing to the best in New York?" The mystery boy asked playfully seating himself beside the short newsie on the bed opposite from Brooklyn.

"Beat you by your own name" Brandy joined in raising his voice to an obnoxiously high pitch in order to optimize his insult. The laughter that resulted from this drew attention to the group, and Brooklyn's high pitch giggle was most recognizable. She was thankful for the alcohol, and for Race and Blink acting as a distraction from her fear of the King of Brooklyn.

"Hey, I don't sound like that" Race protested grudgingly joining the laughter that surrounded him.

"Yes you do" Brooklyn continued in her amusing laugh, and was giggling so hard she could not successfully swallow her next sip of beer. Race rolled onto his back, stretching his arms above his head to retrieve the weapon of his defense. In one fluid motion he returned to a sitting position, and released the pillow from his grip, sending it directly into Brooklyn's side. Race erupted into hysterics when the force of the pillow caused Brooklyn to spill her beer onto Brandy's lap. She laughed uncontrollably at his misfortune of sitting near her, which fueled his need for revenge.

"Oh that's funny?" Her first acquaintance asked as he retrieved a pillow from a neighboring bunk, and drunkenly missed Brooklyn's head, and smashed the pillow directly into Blink's unprepared good eye.

"Trying to blind me huh, Brandy?" Blink taunted him, grabbing himself a weapon and twirling it in preparation of sending it back to the Brooklyn newsie who'd caused him pain.

"Don't worry Blink you only have to change one letter in your name and we could call you Blind" Race said through his loud, obnoxious laugh. It was a contagious laugh that made it impossible for those around him to keep a straight face when it was heard. Blink was unsure whether to take revenge on his attacker or insulter. He compromised by swinging the pillow back on Brandy's head before sending it soaring in the direction of Race's head. Race ducked, causing the pillow to continue its journey until Spot's profile stopped it. Upon his involvement in the fight Brooklyn announced that she was going to find another cup of beer, and stole away before she would be forced to witness his reaction. It wasn't long before the alcohol caught up with her inexperienced blood flow, and caused her to seek relief from the uncomfortable feeling in sleep.

Sweat suctioned the hair to her neck, arms, and back. She fought against this hot blanket growing from her own scalp. She lifted the hair away from her body and held it on top of her head to grant herself a few moments peace. Nothing could have forced her to face the unforgiving mirror when she finally let her hair fall back to its natural place around her shoulders. Her skin demanded cool air to release it from the torturous beads of sweat. She complied immediately heading toward the window where the solace of the roof awaited her. She remained frozen at the fire escape's entrance to the roof when she was met with a cloud of white smoke, and a pair of electric blue eyes boring into her once again. Suddenly she missed the suffocating heat of the bunkroom below her, his icy disposition transferring the cold into her spine.

"It was too hot downstairs" She explained her reasoning for unexpectedly joining him on the roof, but refused to leave. This was the only personal space she was granted in a home stuffed with too many boys to be alone inside her mind. He was intruding on her sanctuary, she thought she could stand it if it had been anyone up there but him.

"No, shit" He responded snorting hot white smoke out of nostrils with his contempt for the girl before him. She wondered if the rumors about Spot Conlon's many women were all fictional because she had yet to witness even a hint of charm that would convince even the ditziest of females to go to bed with him. She was torn between the desire to hate him for eternity for calling her a whore, and make peace with him for not betraying her secret.

"Thanks for covering for me earlier" She finally offered this statement to him as a recognition of his action as a decent person. Vulnerability snaked through the air surrounding her, and she felt its presence leave a bitter taste in her mouth as she released the last word. She spit on the ground beneath her to rid her body of this unwelcome presence. She'd rather return to life on the streets than be indebted to Spot Conlon.

"I didn't do it for you" He responded with a bitterness in his voice as though the very concept repulsed him. He had felt the vulnerability of her words, and drove them back into the open wound it left. He lifted himself from the ground, running his fingers through his sandy hair as he dropped his cigarette to the cement roof below him.

"Then why'd you do it?" She asked the familiar heat began to boil beneath her skin. She regretted sincerely attempting to thank him, when her only response was tranquil mockery. She was repulsed by her own actions, and welcomed the influx of adrenaline that chased out all remnants of the sickening vulnerability from the atmosphere. He laughed, mocking her anger with his calmness, and igniting the fire once again to dance mercilessly within her eyes.

"I'm Spot Conlon" He replied as if the mere repetition of his name revealed the reasoning behind his actions. She allowed the fire to consume her, rejoicing in the strength it gave her. She leaned herself comfortably against the wall, no longer feeling inferior in his presence.

"Who the hell cares?" Her tone mocked him in that it was completely serious. She stood there glaring back into the icy blue storm, unafraid of his presence and refusing to even acknowledge his authority. She smirked at her own power, and the anger was transferred to the bright sapphire eyes before her. Within an instant her had her pinned against the wall, her own wrist held behind her back by his hand. He pressed his torso against her, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing to release his anger before he physically harmed the girl before him. He gripped her wrist so tightly she could feel the fingerprints embed themselves into her skin, but she refused to release even a whimper. She stared back into his cold eyes defiantly, refusing to contort her face to display any measure of the pain. With his words he released the alcohol and anger fueled aggression he was fighting to control.

"You don't know what you've done. You've put me in a very difficult situation, girl. I can't tell the truth because that would mean I'm going soft. Some stupid girl isn't afraid to lie and use my name to further her own ambitions. If you were a man I'd soak you for it" He shifted his head in order to see the expression on her face. Brooklyn had the notion to spit directly into his eye, but refrained. Instead she blocked out the small pain in her wrist, and regained the indifferent composure she'd mastered earlier.

"I'm not afraid of you" She confidently hissed as she attempted to burn him with crackling viridian fire within her irises. He released her, prying his body off hers in one quick motion and lit another cigarette. Brooklyn didn't dare move a muscle or facial expression might betray the look of disgust she intended for her features. The drags from his cigarette seemed to alleviate the intense aggression within him, when he addressed her again he had returned to a state of tranquility.

"It looks like you're going to get wanted. You're coming back to Brooklyn with me tomorrow" He informed her a coldness still coating his voice where the anger had previously been dominant.

"Why? Just leave me here" She demanded her voice taking on a tone of angry disbelief. This was the logical thing to do. He might've thought taking her back to Brooklyn would be a punishment for her, but he'd be making himself equally as miserable. His response was in the same indifferent tone the cigarette promoted.

"Can't do that, Brooklyn. You gave them my name, and I can't have Jack thinking I can't take care of my own newsies. You brought this on yourself." He blew smoke rings into the starless sky above them, to remove the anger and disgust from his body.

"Maybe I don't want to leave" She retorted raising her eyebrows in defiance. She directed her feline eyes at him in the hopes of inspiring some sort of fear. He snorted through his nostrils at her attempt to seem powerful.

"You don't have a choice" He responded inserting the painful truth into her brain. She was trapped by her own lie and the only way out was to follow Spot to Brooklyn.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies, I do own characters not from the movie

**Heart of Brooklyn**

_Chapter 7_

Despite how she tried, she could not convince herself that alcohol was the cause for her restless sleep. The anger that had consumed her on the rooftop towards Spot had been redirected to herself for the remainder of the night. Because of her own impulsive statements she was forced to debate between her only two options, following Spot to Brooklyn, or cease being a newsie. The anger flowed through her blood at the realization that one boy had the power to alter her future. Every limb of her body tensed, her fingers gripped the sheets below her violently in an attempt to release the sickening rage from her body. She closed her eyes tightly, attempting to connect her brows with her cheekbones in an effort to block out the suns rays. However, nothing could mask the roaring that was a room full of boys preparing for the day ahead.

Upon prying herself from bed she was not granted a moments peace from the unhealthy anger threatening to permanently seize control of her small frame. She had not taken two steps toward the washroom when she heard the voice behind her that had the ability to raise her anger to a level she didn't know was possible.

"Ready to go?" His voice implanted itself directly into her raging stomach making her feel as though the only release to the pain of anger was to be sick. Maybe then she could expel the feeling from her body. She turned unwillingly, yet determined to face him, her fists clenched at her sides to maintain some semblance of control over her emotions.

"No" The effort that it took to release this one syllable without physically lashing out at the direct cause of her uncomfortable internal state was overwhelming. He took one step toward her, the cigarette in his hand was once again distracting to her. She craved the tranquility that it would force into her body. She looked at it desperately as a release from the pain. His countenance suggested that his statement wasn't meant to be a question. His tone darkened to reaffirm his position in the hierarchy in case his address that morning had caused her confusion.

"We're leaving now. I'm not going to miss a day of selling because of you" His hot breath covered her nose and mouth, so that she could breath in nothing but his scent. His growl was meant only for her, and he averted the notice of the readying newsies that surrounded them. With his dominance reaffirmed he pretended to ignore the girl before him as she opened her mouth to speak. Angry words bubbled to her lips and evaporated before they could be spoken aloud. The rage that was pumping throughout her body left her restless and paralyzed, if she didn't find a release for the intensity it would break her.

"See you around, Jack" The source of anger called over her head, as though she were not standing livid before him. Above her head the boys spit-shook completely oblivious to the emotional battle that was consuming the third member of their party. Jack offered his goodbye to Brooklyn, but her body had not decided between remaining still and moving. Before reason had an opportunity to overcome the unsettling anger, Spot had her by the arm and was escorting her through the door of the lodging house. It only occurred to her blocks later that she hadn't gotten to say goodbye.

The physical exertion of attempting to keep up with Spot's pace was a sufficient release for her anger. Although it was impossible for her to shake the overwhelming contempt for herself at being a mere bystander in the events of her life. She had absolutely no control in the lodging house, and even worse she hadn't even had the dignity to defend herself. She had taken orders like a child, and followed her master obligingly wherever he might lead her. With these thoughts replacing each other every time she thought she had expelled them it was impossible to obtain internal peace for long. Nothing could rationalize this submissive behavior. She intended never to disappoint herself again.

For the moment she settled for matching Spot's pace, refusing to let on how taxing this power walk was on her body. She would not slow her gait despite how her legs pleaded with her brain. The stubbornness had emerged, and the pain helped her forget how she had acted earlier. Spot walked to his home, his breathing steady and easy. His pace was reached with ease and grace, his form comfortably sauntered through the streets in perfect execution. The cigarettes he carelessly smoked and discarded were a great source of jealousy to his companion. She felt if she could only have a drag she'd be able to stomach her new circumstances.

When they reached the distribution office she realized she wasn't meant to have any time to rest. Directly after walking for miles, Spot planned for him to immediately begin his day of selling papers. In her determined mindset she could not allow herself to show any weakness, and naturally willed away the urge to rest her aching legs momentarily. He must have been aware of her fatigue because the smirk was painted across his face, unwavering in its mockery. It's presence made her more determined to hide all traces of her discomfort. She could not be sure of the reason for his constant smirking, but she was not about to give him license to mock her.

With a large bundle of papers wedged between his bicep and torso he finally addressed Brooklyn for the first time since entering their home borough. His cool cerulean eyes scanned her thinner stack, and held a mockery within them that inflated Brooklyn's defenses. He raised his eyebrows as a challenge to her, the coolness in his tone matched the frost within his orbs.

"You think you're a newsie?" The mockery took form within his words, shaped to ignite the anger inside her that gave him the upper hand. "Let's see what you can do" The tone released with these words suggested that she could not do anything of significance, especially sell newspapers. Before she had finished one sentence he interrupted her, his facial features distorted into a picture of disgust.

"Have you sold even one paper in Manhattan?" His voice was filled with feigned concern and disbelief. Aware that he expected anger in response to his carefully crafted sarcasm, she chose to ignore her partner and after increasing the distance between them continued shouting headlines as if he hadn't spoken. She was focused on her current actions and didn't notice him sneak up behind her, a dangerous state of mind in Brooklyn. It's impossible to remain safe and become so lost in anything that you're unaware of your surroundings. That was all she could think of when his warm breath assaulted her ear.

"If you ask nicely, I can help you" She was suspicious that his attitude toward her was motivated by the desire to discourage her from becoming a newsie. She wasn't about to let one boy make her so uncomfortable that she left her new profession. She turned to face him, her best imitation of a sweet smile plastered across her face to enhance the sincerity of her words.

"Spot, if it's not too much trouble, would you please get away from me?" Obviously unaccustomed to being insulted, she half expected Spot to hit her. His reaction was more surprising as his lips transformed themselves into that knowing smirk.

"Anything for you" The words were expelled with a mock sincerity that a weaker minded woman would have mistaken for genuine. She rolled her eyes at the condescension and implication of his response before accepting a small victory for his relieving her of his presence.

She reveled in her solitude, almost missing the days when she was the only human she encountered. The feeling was not strong enough to convince her to return to thievery, nights on cold pavement and doorsteps. Despite its excessive downsides life on her own had been her experience for years. She hadn't lasted long behind the chained doors of a factory, and had reverted to her nomadic existence readily. The aloneness caused her comfort because of its familiarity.

After having much difficulty selling her thirty papers she made her way back to the lodging house, attempting to expel the nerves from her body through her movement. It was the fairly familiar sight of boys occupying ever corner of her world. The lobby was not a separate room, but merely the front portion of what expanded into the main bunkroom. The room was wide and very long, bunk beds were lined against the wall equip with a dirty mattress and single pillow for its owner. The rambunctious nature the Manhattan jokesters provided was non-existent in Brooklyn. Boys still held dice and card games, lounged in any area of the room they could, and smoked tobacco without regard for the cough the small newsies developed, but their countenance was sober. Their leader made no jokes to prove his kinship, and all their games held the importance of dignity, pride and money. It was not that no one laughed, however, Brooklyn did not consider themselves a family. Their protection against the world that had discarded them was a tough exterior and quick offensive reflexes. They did not draw strength from the bonds of friendship, they obtained it from the capable muscles beneath their coarse skin, and the weapons they each concealed.

Brooklyn had not expected any less from this borough. She knew its streets and knew first hand how it treated its children. She found a small portion of unoccupied floor and claimed it for herself. The solitude that had been refreshing only a few hours ago, turned to isolation in a room full boys who ignored her presence. Upon noticing her enter Spot had made his announcement.

"That's Brooklyn" He'd thrown his hand carelessly in her direction so all his followers realized he was referring to the girl. He returned himself to a card game Brooklyn didn't recognize and made no further welcome to her. The newsies followed the example of their leader and did nothing more then look up and acknowledge Spot's words. She received no welcome from them, no acceptance, and certainly no friendly jokes. All she received from them were cold stares and condemning snickers aimed toward her. She entertained herself by exploring her surroundings with her eyes, unwilling to relinquish the piece of the room she had proclaimed her own. To her left she saw the washroom separated from the bunkroom by a door. To her right was the staircase and she knew too well where that would lead her. Toward the rear of the room opposite the lobby was a fairly large window that led to the fire escape. For all the scanning of her surroundings she did not see Brandy or the newsie who had accompanied him at the party. It impressed her that there were boys missing from this scene, and that this bunkroom would have to accommodate even more boys than were currently in it. She rejoiced in the fact the window was big enough to exit through, isolation felt less disheartening when she wasn't surrounded by others.

By the time anyone addressed her the window allowed the grey veil of dusk to enter the bunkroom and alert them all that their remaining hours of this day were disappearing. Spot had sauntered toward her nonchalantly and crouched down to meet her eyes. He was not nearly as calloused as he had been towards her previously and she recognized pity in the calm sapphire abyss. She rejected this emotion on the basis of her pride and adjusted her gaze to meet his defensively. The sage daggers held his unacceptable pity at bay, but could not find the strength necessary to plunge it back into him.

"Looks like you're staying in my room" He announced in a low voice so not to draw any unnecessary attention toward them. Her brows furrowed into a mixture of confusion and anger, the daggers were sharpened by the influx of adrenaline. They tried desperately to stab at the unyielding ice beneath the alluring blue.

"No" Her response had been calm because it had been ushered before the anger had fully entered her body. She had been repeating this refrain all day, and upon hearing her response he had turned and entered his private room with no reaction toward her insubordination. Once again she redirected the anger at herself. She had meant to express her indignation at such a request and defend herself against the very thoughts that would lead to such a suggestion. Her mere refusal was not enough and she was disgusted by her own impotency for defending herself against Spot.

The obnoxious sound of his voice as he called "lights out" down to the newsies her reigned over increased her anger. Every candle was blown at the first syllable he uttered, and through the window the velvet blackness was permitted entrance into the bunkroom it then enveloped. As the candles were being extinguished, so was her hope that she could avoid Spot's room. It was as the light was disappearing that she realized there was no empty bunk for her to sleep in. She began contemplating the floor of the bunkroom, but it would give her a lower rank than the other newsies and she was already isolated by gender.

Grudgingly she climbed the stairs that had been the cause of the situation she was currently in. She entered the familiar bunkroom, and found that one candle remained lit. She assumed it was so she would be forced to witness the representation of Spot's victory sit comfortably across his lips. Nothing would have pleased her more than to personally remove the smirk from his face. She was defeated however, and when he did not move to speak she offered the only apology she could muster.

"There are no empty bunks downstairs" Her tone revealed that this repetition of information was unnecessary as Spot was already aware of this fact. His smirk only widened as he allowed her to be consumed by the embarrassment of guessing his motivations incorrectly.

"From now on you do what I say without pretending you have a say in it" He explained his tone more mocking then authoritative. He was amused by her forced submission because of her status as his newsie, and found a different way to break her than the physical force used on his male newsies. Her body shook involuntarily from the intense anger at being subordinate to Spot. Although she took her place on the bottom bunk the anger that consumed her body from this hierarchy would not allow her to find sleep for hours.

The sunlight poured across her pillow forcing its way between her eyelids and coaxing her brain out of its resting state. Sleep had been so evasive the previous night that she was far from fully rested. Her head felt too heavy to be held up by her weak neck, and the sandpaper in her throat was choking her. She stumbled into Spot's private washroom and filled the small cup with water. She drank it as though she had no desire for anything else in the world, and greedily filled it again when she'd emptied it.

The banging on the door to Spot's room, unhinged her nerves from their proper place and forced her heart rate to increase dramatically. In her barely awake state, it felt as though her heart were beating directly between her eyes. Slowly, she re-entered Spot's room and alternated her stare between the boy and the door. With her decision made she approached Spot, and shook his by the arm, insisting that he wake up. When the noise re-started so did her nerves. Its unexpectedness caused her to physically jump and turn in the direction of her fear. This movement forced the water from the cup still clutched in her hand and onto the sleeping Spot Conlon. The door creaked itself open, and the boy standing in the doorway caught a glimpse of his leader trying to clear water off his chest, with flexed and anger-fueled muscles. Brooklyn could not help be amused watching him struggle against the cold water. The surprise on her face must have been replaced by satisfaction at his dilemma, and upon noticing the cup in her hand the sleepy sapphire shifted to frozen rage. His anger as he threw himself from his bed unnerved Brooklyn, and she refocused her attention on the boy Spot had refused to notice. She recognized him as the delivery boy Spot used to get his papers in the morning. Neither of them spoke until Spot re-joined them from his retreat into the washroom.

"Ace needs to talk to you. He said by the docks cause it's important." The young boy blurted out in one breath, afraid he would forget his mission. Upon finishing his statement his chest puffed with pride at the successful completion of his task, and the importance of it because it involved his idol. The child turned his attention to his feet and returned with a beam across his face at being able to deliver his message without crossing the threshold into Spot's room uninvited. Brooklyn momentarily pitied the young boy before all thoughts turned to herself.

"Spot!" She had screeched without considering the benefit of self-control. The cold liquid poured down her back in a string of torture, once again the unexpected caused her heartbeat to speed up. Her hair and shirt were matted to her skin as though fused with adhesive. Her torture was doubled as the strands of her hair allowed cold water to drip down her back after the initial stream had ceased. She tried to pull the hair and clothing away from her body in vain. It must have been comical to watch her wrestle with her own hair for freedom from her punishment. Spot nodded toward the boy in his doorway closing the distance between them. With his attention averted Brooklyn plotted her revenge.

"Thanks, Runner" He offered to his young admirer with a wink. He turned to face Brooklyn again and instead faced a pillow aimed at his head. The quick reflexes that served him as a leader were allowed him to duck out of its way and avoid the embarrassment of revenge. Out of sheer emotion, and with no pause for contemplation, Brooklyn threw the cup still in her hand in his direction. Her aim did not betray her as it smashed itself into her adversary's stomach, causing him to double over from unexpected pain. The viridian flame rejoiced in victory, waiting to meet his defeated eyes to proclaim her power over him.

He eyed the guilty cup rolling by his feet, before returning his gaze to meet hers. Amusement colored his eyes a rich cerulean , while his eyebrows rose to allow room for it. The smirk had been returned to his lips, and the relaxed feeling of victory fled from her veins. Graceful as a hunting mountain lion he crossed the distance between them and effortlessly imprisoned the girl in his arms. Before she could burst out with indignation he shouted orders to the boy newsie.

"Runner, fill the bath tub" The child began the action immediately, his only goal to please his leader. He was honored to be given a task that allowed him personal entry to Spot's private room. He'd been invited into the battle going on between the two who resided in it, and Runner was ecstatic to be included. Spot's words did not have the same effect on the girl in his arms.

Brooklyn released a scream that she regretted instantly after she saw the amusement transform Spot's features. She assessed the best way to avoid the harsh water that was waiting for her, deciding to use any approach to convince Spot to put her down. She began in the most dignified way, by thrashing about in Spot's arms attempting to free herself. It was to no avail as Spot only tightened his grip on her and laughed. His eyes were brilliant with amusement and the outburst of his laugh convinced her that her sadistic leader was too strong to be outdone physically.

"Spot, Don't you dare put me in that bath tub" Her voice had the tone of a mother scolding her son, but the authority was not her own. She could not see his eyes to asses her odds of being let free. Hers danced with an urgency that would have caused him more amusement then he was already suffering.

"Or what?" The words escaped with another laugh, and he ceased his gait toward the washroom to allow Brooklyn a change to respond. She searched her mind for any response that might alter her fate, but nothing could be extracted from a brain plagued with nerves. As he started moving again she resorted to begging.

"Spot, please don't put me in there. It was an accident" She pleaded as though it was her life that was in danger and not just her desire to remain dry. He scoffed, and held her over the bath tub momentarily to increase her sense of dread.

"Throwing a cup at me is an accident?" Before she had the opportunity to respond he had dropped her into the pot of cold liquid an unforgiving container. The icy water welcomed her by engulfing her beneath its surface and attempting to keep her there with every movement. She felt her body hurt from the hard surface she had been dropped upon, and was grateful it was not her head that had been smashed into the wall of her new prison. None of this had been a concern of Spot's when he'd dropped her in there for his own sadistic pleasure. When she had freed herself from the suffocating liquid her attention was immediately called to a giggling Runner, doubled over by laughter and crouched behind his leader. Spot stood erect with a towel as an offering to her in his right hand. The satisfied amusement in his orbs disgusted her, but it was the smirk that his unchapped lips formed that she despised. He was not overcome with anger, and offered her the first greeting in her new home.

"Welcome to Brooklyn.".


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies just characters not from the movie

Sorry that this took forever to put up I have just been really busy but I'm gonna start updating more frequently I promise.

THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED I hope you don't stop reading

Hope you like it

Chapter 8

She was sitting in the water calmly pushing her long wet hair out of her face when the laughter finally faded. Alone in the room she used all of her self-control not to physically lash out at anything, breaking Spot's furniture couldn't be a good idea. It made her mad how easily he could make her mad. So her anger at Spot was doubled by her own anger at herself. She just stood there dripping a nice neat puddle of water onto the floor, her clothes uncomfortably sticking to her contemplating why it was that he could make her so angry. As she clenched and unclenched her fist in an attempt to release some of the adrenaline that came with the anger she decided on her answer. If Spot liked to get her mad, then every time she yelled at him he liked it. It was just another chance to not react and show his authority. Nothing that she could do could make him angry enough to show a real reaction. She had just hit him with a cup and rather than getting angry and yelling at her he threw her in a tub. He just doesn't let himself get mad so the anger never bothers him and that's why he can be so cocky all the time. Everyone knows that anger ends up hurting the person who holds onto it and that's why he could put up with her and she couldn't stand him. She holds onto the anger, and it comes back to hurt her.

She took a deep breath in and made the decision that she wouldn't be angry anymore. Nothing that Spot Conlon does could make her angry, and that was it. Once she made that decision she could stop focusing on who had the power because she didn't care anymore and started focusing on what the hell she was going to do since her only pair of clothes were now completely soaked. She searched the room for only a few minutes before she found what she needed. Under the bunk bed were Spot Conlon's extra clothes. There were only 2 extra sets under there she noticed after she had unraveled the giant ball that they were wrapped into. It wasn't a lot but she was sure that it was more than any other newsie had. Skillfully Brooklyn took the pins that held her own pants around the waist and used it to tighten his large pants around her. She transferred the pins that hemmed her own pants as well to his so that she could run and move easily without excess fabric to trip her. Since her own shirt fit her she had nothing to hold up the blue sleeves that fell past her hands. She had decided on rolling them up but on her way down the stairs they unrolled and fell past her arms again. Then she tried pushing them up but every few steps they were back again. Finally she gave up and just let them hang there not caring that her fingers were covered.

Feeling dry and in better spirits she passed the Brooklyn newsies still getting ready for the day ahead of them. Spot and Brooklyn had woken up earlier than usual that morning. She left the lodging house starting toward the distribution center when she noticed a small band of boys by the docks. As she strolled up to it Spot stepped away from his newsies and addressed her directly.

"What do you think your doing?" he asked raising an eyebrow his voice steady and stern.

She blinked twice at him as if trying to understand the meaning of this dumb question.

"Walking?" She said as if it was a question clearly unaware of what he was talking about

"Why?" he paused and motioned with his hand toward her clothes "are you wearing my clothes?" he asked slowly once again treating her like a child.

In the same condescending slow voice she responded, "Because you soaked mine"

"Who said you could wear my clothes? Maybe you were supposed to wear your soaked ones"

"Maybe I didn't want to"

"Well, maybe I don't care what you want"

"Well, maybe-" with one fluid motion he took her arm and threw her into the water over the dock. When she came up for air he shouted over the laughter of the Brooklyn newsboys

"If I say you wear wet clothes then you do it" his famous smirk back in its place.

She scowled at him but refused to allow her thinking to be clouded by anger. She swam to the dock and pulled herself up ignoring the helpful hand that was offered to her.

"You've managed to soak your own clothes," she said calmly as she pulled her hair to one side and rang it out. "Very impressive" She flipped it behind her shoulders so it rested on her back.

She managed to win a few smiles from the crowd of newsboys around her.

"I should soak you for talking to me like that" he growled at her fingering the gold tipped cane that hung on his belt loop.

"I'm already soaked!" She exclaimed earning herself a few snickers from the unwelcoming newsboys. As he opened his mouth to respond the ringing from the circulation bell filled the ears from the small crowd of newsies and rather than wait for his reply she pushed passed him and started in the direction of the distribution center to start her day. She collected her papers and decided on spending another day selling in the park. Nature had a calming effect on her.

Brandy jogged a little to catch up with her, his papers nearly falling out of his grasp

"Wait up will ya?" he called to her and she turned around squinting her eyes to block the sun and identify who was speaking to her.

"Wadda you want?" she asked placing a hand on her hip "I aint on your bunk"

"Someone's in a good mood" he sarcastically responded. She continued walking and he fell into step next to her "pretty risky standing up to Spot don't you think?" he asked changing his tone.

"What do you care?" She asked still on the defensive around these newsboys who made no attempt to be civil to her before.

"Just trying to help," he said irritated "Ya could try being nice" he sarcastically spat at her.

"No one's been nice to me" She spat back

"You don't make it easy"

"Okay, fine." She said exasperated "pretty risky standing up to Spot" she repeated in a voice mocking him. "Yea I guess it is but why should I have to take his shit."

"Cause he's leader"

She rolled her eyes at this. It was the only response she had other than admitting he was right.

"He's not gonna let ya get away with that"

"With what?"

"Nobody gets the last word with Spot Conlon"

"We'll see" she said a mischievous tone tracing her voice.

"He won't let you win," He said reading her thoughts. She only smirked to herself and continued walking on her way.

The sun played beautifully off the landscape of the park and it was all she could do to keep from taking comfort under some shady protective tree for the day. The plan was to resort to this after she had sold her papers and could relinquish under the bliss the tree offered. Unfortunately she was not as good at selling as she would have liked some to believe, and finishing her stack of papers was looking near impossible. The sun arrogantly shown itself down on her with heat so intense it was as if it was only shining on her. Within maybe an hour or so her clothes had dried and her hair remained only damp from both soakings that morning. She continued hawking headlines trying to ignore the sweat that was collecting under her loose fitting clothes.

"Ya shoulda listened to me" came the arrogant voice from behind her. She closed her eyes and clutched her papers tighter trying to deprive him of a reaction. She turned around to face him slowly.

"No thanks"

"Your never gonna sell any papes like dat" He said with disgust

"Go away Spot"

"How about you do what I say, and when it works you knock off the attitude"

"What if it doesn't work?" She asked raising her eyebrows with her hands on her hips. He took a few steps closer until his form blocked the sun from her eyes.

"If it doesn't work, then your hopeless" he spoke almost in a whisper, smirking at his own words.

"Now you're just reading the headlines the way they are. What is wrong with you?"

"First making them up is bad, now reading them is bad. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Calm down"

"I'm calm"

"Then unclench your fist"

"I'm calm"

Spot sat down in the shade under her tree. He leaned his back up against the tree and put his hands behind his head after lighting a cigarette. She couldn't help it he made her mad.

"What are you doing?"

"Smoking"

"Don't you have to sell too, or is his highness above selling papes today?"

"Since I don't suck" he paused for a drag of his cigarette "I finished selling"

"How did you finish already?" She said shocked

"Oh, no. I'm not helping you anymore."

"You weren't helping you were mocking"

"Don't worry I'm still gonna mock you"

"Great!" she said dripping with sarcasm.

"You're just a little too sarcastic"

"You're just a little too cocky"

"If you keep flattering me all day your not gonna finish selling before dark"

"It was an insult"

"Not a very good one"

"Can you leave me alone?" She said exasperated

"I'm having a cigarette," he said taking a drag and holding it up for her to see.

"Go have it somewhere else"

"Why don't _you_ go somewhere else?"

"I was here first"

he blinked at her, then took another drag. "That's cute" he said, "You think I care"

"Fine" she almost screamed but at the last second kept her cool and walked out of the park. Spot was right; she didn't finish selling before dark. She hated when Spot was right. At least she could take comfort in the fact that now it was over, at least for a little while. Brandy had warned her that Spot wouldn't let her have the last word. Maybe now that he had it he'd leave her alone for a while. When she finally made her way back into the lodging house and paid for the night the sky was completely dark.

"Lights out in ten" came his reigning voice from above, and she didn't feel like entering his room just yet. She walked through the bunkroom receiving stares from most boys and a smile from Brandy, which she returned. Brooklyn climbed out the window almost tripping because the windowsill was higher than the one in Manhattan. She climbed the two stories up to the roof. Even if there were only ten minutes to spare she needed the solidarity. She found herself a corner where she could lean against the chimney and fully outstretch her legs. Her moments up there were relaxing ones, the only thing she could have wanted was a cigarette to exemplify the relaxation feeling. The thoughts constantly swirling through her were quieted and she took in the view from the roof to keep them from flooding back. The moon dimly lit the area and she could see stars and rooftops as far as she could. She saw a single tree growing in some far off part of her city. Maybe it gave some little girl enough hope to continue with the day-to-day struggle that was life in Brooklyn. At least that little girl didn't have to deal with Spot Conlon.

She snapped to attention when she realized that soon her ten minutes would be up. She went back to the window of the lodging house preparing herself for whatever she would have to encounter when she went to his room to sleep. _It's stuck_ she thought to herself when she tried to push the window up and open. She tried again. Nothing. She took a deep breath and a step forward. This time using all the energy she could muster she pushed upward again. When her breath ran out she took a step back and looked at the window. She was breathing a little heavily and her arms hurt a little from the effort. As she took another step toward it she saw something twinkle in the moonlight. She moved around trying to find that spot again and when she did she saw what caused it. It was the gold tip to a cane that belonged to the vengeful boy. At present his cane was wedged into the window. It went from the top of the sill to where it opened so that if she pushed up on the window it would push against the cane that stopped it from budging. After a few more futile attempts more for the purpose of releasing anger then trying to open the window she tried to think productively.

She looked past the window for the first time seeing the boys within smirking and laughing at each other. Spot was nowhere to be found. She rolled her eyes and knocked on the window pointing to the cane hoping someone would at least have enough humanity to open it. Not a single boy moved for the window. At one point she caught Brandy's eye and he mouth "Sorry" to her and shrugged his shoulders. If they hadn't seen him do it then just the presence of Spot's cane would have been enough to keep them at least 5 feet away from the window. She could almost feel the smirk on Spot's face as she stomped her way back up to the roof to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own the newsies only characters not from the movie

Chapter 9

For a girl who slept on the streets her entire life her night spent up on the roof was unusually sleepless. It might have been because the constant security of having a warm blanket and soft mattress had weakened her to a point she could no longer be comfortable sleeping outside the way she used to. It could have been the way the worn out roof poked her in the back every time she moved to find a comfortable position. The crawling bugs and sticky cobwebs didn't make staying in one place long enough for sleep to find her any easier.

Then again, maybe it was the chronic anger that plagued her throughout the night that prevented her from sleeping. It was feeling that came and went all night. At its low points she had it silenced and hoped it would be the last time she would think about it, however the moment she allowed her mind to wander it started rising up again slowly. At its high points her raged boiled to a point where her vision was cloudy and her thoughts no longer made sense, the only way for to regain control was to lash out at something, anything. Unfortunately for her knuckles the only thing within reach that night was the chimney, and as much as it hurt to repeatedly punch it every few minutes when her anger swelled, losing control was a much worse feeling for Brooklyn. It was simply not an option.

It wasn't until the early morning sun finally cast its light onto the rooftop of the Brooklyn Lodging House that she saw the bloody mess her hands had become. In her attempt to keep control of her thoughts she had massacred the knuckles of the hands she used to constantly punch the chimney. The first time she looked at them she had to look away, the second time she wondered how to fix them and wished she hadn't been so impulsive as to punch the solid brick chimney. The third time she rolled her droopy eyes to her knuckles she was looking for answers. An answer to the question what was she doing here?

Becoming a newsie was the best and worst thing that had ever happened to her. Logically thinking she now had money to buy food, a place to sleep that safe and comfortable, and a job she could stand. However, she still had to put up with Spot Conlon, and it was him that she could not stand. One part of her told her to leave and turn her back on being a newsie, that whatever positives it brought the bad outweighed the good. The other part of her argued that if she allowed one stupid boy to stand in the way of a good thing then she was a fool. The later won out in this internal argument and when she rose to meet the day ahead of her it was to the distribution center that she headed.

She reached the distribution center before it had even opened. Brooklyn was standing there when the wagons carrying the papers pulled up and was the first to receive paper that morning. She had almost escaped without having to see any of the Brooklyn newsies, but no such luck.

"Still wearing my clothes?" he called to her as she started to stroll away papers under her arm.

"Couldn't exactly change" she turned to face him and his followers, hands planted on her hips responding to his challenge. The overly tired sensation and anger fueled her body that was running on empty. "I see you got your cane back," she said nodding toward the trademark hanging from his belt loop.

His smirk widened almost into a smile. If he wasn't so damn proud of himself for his cruelty it might have been cute, but the physical representation of his cockiness was in that smirk and he held onto it as long as he could.

"You missed curfew," he said in his mockingly calm tone. She felt her insides grow hotter as the anger boiled inside of her. He truthfully could not care less if she slept on a rooftop for a stupid reason like missing his set curfew. As if in the real world it mattered whether she came in 10 or 11 minutes after he yelled down to them. He doesn't care that she spent her night in agony just so he could prove he was in charge just so long as Spot Conlon proved himself time and time again. The selfish leader just didn't care about anyone but himself.

Today she was too tired to fight him. Too exhausted to think of comebacks and yell at him. She was completely disgusted with his total disregard for anyone besides himself. She mumbled something inaudible under her breath and wondered how it was he had even become leader in the first place. It was too much work for her mind, especially after her night to try and figure out Spot Conlon.

Her knuckles started to feel as though she had been punching a brick chimney all night. She looked down at them again and tried to figure out something she could do for them. The fabric from Spot's overly long shirt was rubbing against the open cuts, irritating them. Splotches of red stained the light blue material and she could only imagine what punishment she would pay for staining one of his three shirts. Forget the fact that it was stained with blood which meant she was bleeding and hurt, she knew the only thing that would mean to him was a bloody shirt that he would have to lower himself into wearing. _How did these people allow themselves to be ruled by such a tyrant?_ It was something she just could not understand.

Since there was nothing that could be done about her knuckles she took the extra time that day to keep slowly pushing up the sleeves to that they did not bother the open cuts she had. There was no way to bandage them, and if there were she could not bandage her own hands by herself. Brooklyn wasn't new to pain; she dealt quietly with the agony her knuckles caused her. A person who couldn't see the injury would not have known she was hurting.

If selling had come easily to her she might have been able to recover from her rocky morning. Unfortunately, she was probably the worst seller that the borough had seen and found it difficult to finish selling her papers before dark. With her knuckles throbbing, her stomach rumbling, and her eyes begging to be closed for a long nights sleep, she stumbled her way to a vender to feed her grumbling stomach. When she took the coins out of Spot's pockets she noticed that she didn't have enough for food and the lodging house that night. She weighed her options finally deciding that food was more important at the moment. With her tired state she reasoned that she could probably sleep anywhere, and there was always the safety of the roof. She looked around, knowing that she was close to the docks and began walking in their direction.

The blanket of night crashed upon her as though one minute it had been bright sunshine and the next utter darkness. Her groggy state did not help keep her fully aware of her surroundings and all she wanted right then was a place to lie down and sleep. She wasn't sure how much longer she could continue to walk before the simple movement would be too much for her failing body. Every time she drifted she forced herself back and blinked her eyes wildly keeping them focused.

Her body was drained of its energy and the will to sleep was overpowering when she was knocked back into her senses. The rough hand wrapped itself around her waist and pulled her close to another body. The other hand had been placed painfully across her mouth to keep her from screaming. She used the energy from her fear to emit a noise as loud as she could. Her scream was high but muffled by the unmoving hand that held her mouth. She had been in this situation before, she tried to kick around violently but the strength of her attacker easily stopped her in her weakened state. As she was dragged backwards she tried to break free again but gave up on the effort as it became too much for her body. The energy the fear gave her was not enough to save her now. She let out another high muffled scream this one a little louder as she was pulled farther back towards a place she could not see. The stinging sensation of fear went through her entire body, every cell seemed to scream: _get away_. Her stomach contained a feeling that was beyond butterflies as the thought of her own death flashed through her mind. She was being completely ruled by the panic. The sickening feeling began in her stomach and spread itself outward to every part of her body.

The unexpected weight on her back tripped her and she fell to the floor blocking her face with her hands. Her attacker crushed her and the weight was preventing her from breathing. After only a few moments the weight was lifted and she crawled a few feet away, turning back around to watch in horror and the scene unfolding before her. None other than Spot Conlon himself continued to launch punches at her attacker, until; finally he freed himself of Spot's grasp and disappeared into the thick night.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she pulled herself to her feet. The realization that she was safe had not fully hit her, and the nervous panic had not begun to die down.

Spot stood hunched over his knees breathing deeply attempting to regain his composure. They were both panting for air and calming the adrenaline that had taken over their bodies. He cocked his head to the side and looked at her like she was crazy, still panting for air he addressed her.

"What the hell were you thinking?" by the end of his outburst he was able to stand up to his full height, his breath now under his control. She opened her mouth to respond, but he ignored that gesture and continued. "You can't just be walking around in the middle of the night. This is Brooklyn god-damned." He was screaming at her as if she were a little child being scolded by her parent.

"I don't care who you are its dangerous out here. Do you even think at all? Do you have no common sense? You lived on the streets for gods sake you should fucking know better," He yelled breathing deeply for air again. She opened her mouth to respond again and this time he noticed the attempt and interrupted her anyway.

"What? What kind of smart-ass remark could you possibly have to say now?" he yelled, his anger had clearly boiled over.

"Thank you" she responded weakly. She was scared. She could admit it. Brooklyn was scared to death. You ever been grabbed by someone in the middle of the night walking alone? She knew what would have happened if Conlon hadn't have shown up. Her whole body was shaking, from fear and lack of sleep. She wanted to cry until all the fear was gone and she believed she was safe again.

"Your just lucky you're a Brooklyn newsie, your so god-damned lucky." He yelled shaking his head back and forth "Do you know what could've happened if I wasn't here? If I wasn't leader here? If I didn't think it was my job to protect my newsies? Your god-damned lucky Brooklyn." He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. The muscles in his arms flexed and showed just how he had won that fight.

She was scared; she felt everything and nothing at the same time. The moment she started feeling emotions of relief and gratitude she blocked them out with the fear and panic. She was shaking harder and blinked back tears. She wanted so badly to cry. In that moment she wanted a home, a place where she could feel safe. She wanted to lay in a bed alone, wrap herself up in blankets and cry until she couldn't anymore.

"Well get the hell inside Brooklyn" he yelled to her as she just stood there wrapping her arms around herself tightly.

"I can't" she chocked out looking to the side to make it easier to hold back tears for the time being.

"Get inside" he roared at her. She didn't move she only stood there staring back at him trying to work up the courage to speak.

"I don't have any money left" She weakly responded holding herself a little tighter trying to calm the fear that possessed her entire body.

"Get inside" he said much calmer and softer as he lightly tossed her the coins she needed to stay in the house. She picked them up from where they had fallen on the ground and looked back at the boy standing before her. He gave her a nod pointing toward the lodging house and she gave a small one back before turning and walking into the only home she had.

That night she was back in Spot's room; sleep _should_ have found her the moment she hit the pillow. She rolled over onto her side and curled up into a tight little ball covering herself in the blanket completely. She tried to cry, she wanted to, but the tears wouldn't come. Her mind knew she was safe before her body would accept it, and she continued to shake slightly even after her mind was at ease in peaceful sleep. The much-needed rest was perhaps the deepest and most fulfilling night of sleep she had in her entire life. Nothing could have disturbed her, including the sound of her leader throwing himself onto the top bunk a few hours later.

Everyone who reviewed

THANK YOU!!!!!

I'm really sorry it took so long to update this but it they will ( I promise ) be coming a lot quicker because I have a lot of good ideas for this story.

I hope you enjoyed it & keep reading :)

--Siren


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own the newsies only characters not from the movie

Chapter 10

All of a sudden she couldn't breathe. There was a soft material covering her nose and mouth. One moment she was breathing full breaths of fresh air and the next there was barely any air to fill her lungs. Her immediate reaction was the panic that had consumed her body the night before. She jumped to a sitting position on her bed. Her eyes opened wildly trying to take in their surroundings. Instinctually her hands flew to her face but whatever had been covering it had fallen onto the bed. She saw a boy before her and as he turned to walk into his own private bathroom he called over his shoulder

"Wear your own damn clothes today, Brooklyn"

She looked down and saw her own familiar wardrobe on the bed in front of her. The pain from waking and sitting too quickly finally reached her head and she lay back on her pillow trying to regain some precious moments of sleep. It was a lost cause however and a few moments later she obtained the strength to pull herself from the bed.

"Spot! Get out of the bathroom!" she called to the closed door the boy had disappeared behind.

"No?"

"If you don't get out I cant change"

"Change in that room"

"There is no lock on this door"

"Don't care"

"Fine then I guess I'm wearing your clothes again"

The door creaked open and an unhappy looking Spot stood in the doorway. He couldn't switch rooms with her without mumbling inaudible phrases under his breath. When she had changed and readjusted her own clothes to fit her size she felt a sense of home from being back in her own clothes. She opened the door and threw his clothes back to him before brushing her fingers through her hair and trying to make it presentable for the day ahead.

"What the hell is this?" She heard his rough deep voice call through the closed door.

"What?" She responded confused

"Is this?…Is this blood?" He screamed anger and disbelief trailing his voice. He burst through the door that she hadn't bothered to lock after returning his clothes. "Brooklyn is this blood on my shirt?" he yelled the anger in his voice full blown.

"What the hell? What is that?" He continued ranting and he grabbed her wrist looking at the cuts on her knuckles. The blood had dried but it hadn't been washed off. There was a deep purple and blue color surrounding the deep brick red that was the cut. He grabbed the other hand facing a mirror image of the first. He looked at Brooklyn confused and angry.

"What the hell is this from?" He asked loudly still holding onto her wrists.

"The chimney" She responded angrily forcefully freeing her arms from his grasp.

"The chimney?" he repeated louder and more confused than before. "What? Did it start with you?" he screamed mocking her stupidity even through his anger.

"No, you started it" she yelled back trying to defend herself so she didn't seem so stupid and childish for punching a chimney.

"I started a fight between you and the fucking chimney?" he yelled his anger boiling. He released the shirt he had been holding and sent it flying in her direction. She snatched it clear out of the air.

"It was the night I had to sleep on the roof" She shot back hotly.

"That doesn't make any sense" he half-yelled frustrated.

"Neither does making me sleep on the roof" She yelled her own anger boiling

"You missed curfew!" He screamed at her and with on fluid motion he caught hold of her wrist again and took another look at her knuckles

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" He screamed toward the bloody mess her hand had turned into. "They could be infected. Didn't think of that did you?" he nastily snapped at her dragging her over to the sink. He turned it on with his free hand and forced her hand under the running water. The pain seared through her hand as though a knife had been stuck into her open wound rather than water. She jumped and tried to pull her hand back but he held it firmly. He took his shirt that she had carelessly dropped on the floor and rubbed the dry blood out of her hand leaving only the black and blue and scabs along her knuckles. Her breathing continued to increase from the pain of water running over the parts that had not yet healed. He repeated the process with her other hand and she tried not to show how much the pain bothered her. He threw his wet and stained shirt back to the floor and turned to face her. The anger had subsided and he shook his head at her as though she were a child.

"Ya know the least you coulda done was wash the shirt" he said much more calmly. With the adrenaline pumping through her body from the pain, her anger was far from over.

"Wash the shirt!" she screamed back at him "When the hell would I have time to do that?! I have to sell all day"

"You'd have time if you'd listen to me about the selling" he said his calm demeanor mocking her angry one.

"Shut up!" she yelled as she pushed past him he grabbed her arm and turned her around pointing to his shirt on the floor.

"Wash the shirt" it was a command.

"No, I have to sell"

"Not today"

"What does that mean?"

"Your not selling today"

"Yes I am"

"Wash my shirt, and actually you can dot his whole room while your at it" he spoke as he looked around the disgusting mess his room had become.

"I'm not 'at it'. I'm not cleaning anything I'm going to sell" She began to turn around and leave but he stopped her.

"Wrong"

"How am I supposed to make money then Spot? I'm not sleeping on the street just so you can have a clean shirt"

"I'll cover it"

"What about food?"

"I'll bring you some later" He turned and started walking out of the room.

"But I _want_ to sell" she whined in a pleading attempt to get out of it. He didn't even respond to her outburst as he closed the door behind himself as he walked to face the day ahead of him.

She kicked his filthy shirt that lay on the floor, releasing some of her anger. The moment she'd done it she felt guilty. It was the least she could do to was his shirt after he'd saved her life the night before. The panic spread through her body momentarily before she silenced it. She knew that she was lucky he was there to save her. She felt grateful toward him and in that moment she wanted to thank him again and again for saving her life. She couldn't though and her next thought was of how much of a jerk that same boy was. It was almost impossible to feel grateful toward him. He made it so much easier to hate him than to appreciate him. As her thoughts circled she felt both anger and fondness toward the king of Brooklyn. So she decided she would obey today and wash his shirt since she felt that she did owe him for the previous night. She started to clean the room and she could not figure out Spot Conlon no matter how hard she tried to understand. Had he been nicer to her this morning her feelings toward him would have changed. However, since he was still being the jerk that he is it was hard for her to want to thank him. His attitude that morning was uncalled for. Spot Conlon was probably the only person who could do something as heroic as save a person's life and then act as though it had never happened. The door creaked open as she made the bed and who else but Spot walked into the room.

_Think of the devil._ She thought to herself. He held out some kind of offering wrapped in a greasy looking bag and she took it hungrily. She thanked him as she quickly wolfed down the food and he took a look around the place. He found his shirt hanging by the window and went to check the sleeves, nodding at their cleanliness.

"Place looks good" he commented as he took a bite of his own food

"Yeah" she agreed paying more attention to her free meal than to him.

"Maybe you should do this everyday. Ya know like a maid"

"No. no way I'm going back to selling tomorrow"

"If you call it selling"

"Don't make me clean everyday" she asked calmly pleading in her voice taking this approach as opposed to anger.

"No, you're a newsie you can sell tomorrow" he said matter of factly, a little taken aback by her abruptness and lack of fighting. "I gotta go." He said pointing to the stack of papers still under his arm.

"Hey Spot" she called as he was half way out the door

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." She said "For yesterday"

"Part of the job" he responded giving her a full Spot Conlon smile. She smiled back and then he left her alone for the second time that day. After he left she decided to give the main room of the lodging house some work, she really hadn't spent much time in there other than climbing through the window at night. Cleaning a place where more boys than anyone would want to count live is not an easy task and she gave up when the first newsie walked through the door about 10 minutes after she started.

She didn't hear him when he'd first walked in and he slowly crept up behind her. When he was finally directly behind her he grabbed the side of her so that it tickled and screamed "Boo!" she must have jumped a mile in the air and let out a blood-curdling scream. The panic from the previous night returned to her and she whirled around to face her attacker. When she turned around and realized that her attacker was only Brandy she started breathing heavily trying to calm down.

"You asshole" she said the only words she could make out as she tried to regain her composure.

"Somebody's jumpy today" he responded

"What are you doing back so early?" she asked changing the subject

"Finished selling, didn't take a lot of papes today. Bad headline"

"Gotcha"

"Why are you here?"

"Spot made me clean"

At that answer Brandy burst out laughing, no matter how many times she told him he refused to stop until he was wiping the tears from his eyes. His laughter filled the room and she couldn't help but smile and that ridiculously funny sound. Out of boredom and lack of anything else to do Brandy taught her how to play poker. After going through the rules and status of each hand they played a few practice games. As newsies came back from their day of selling they joined the game. The card game continued to grow until they had to pull both tables over to fit the amount of people in. Spot even played a few hands.

Despite anything you may have heard poker is a game of luck. No amount of skill is going to give a player a good hand it all comes down to luck of the draw. The skill comes in by having a poker face. A person can win game after game bluffing if they can pull it off without anyone realizing they're lying. Anyone raised on the streets would have developed a good poker face from having to put on a mask to hide their vulnerability. It was this skill that allowed Brooklyn to win the few games that she did and then finally after many games that night luck stepped in. She was holding in her hands the best hand she'd seen all night. It was a straight flush. A very good hand and as far as she was concerned it meant money in the bank. She called and raised every time the bet came her way. One by one the other players dropped out like flies claiming "too rich for my blood" as they folded. It was down to three people Ace, Spot and Brooklyn. Spot raised, Brooklyn called and raised, Ace dropped out. It was Brooklyn verse Brooklyn. They continued to raise the bet until neither had anything left to bet. It was stupid, the dumbest thing they could do was bet all the money they'd won that night. They needed that money it was rare that they even had twp pennies to rub together and here in front of them was a pot of coins and their greed wouldn't let them stop. It was that damn Brooklyn pride. Neither could be the one who said enough, and so the pot grew until there were no coins left to throw in it. They weren't done though, they just couldn't be. Someone still had to raise because they couldn't be the one not to. It was Brooklyn who had called and now she wanted to raise, she had to.

"Okay I call and loser has to sell papes for the other for 2 days."

"What?" Spot responded "I don't want you selling for me, I want to make money" She scowled at this realizing he was right she tried again.

"Loser has to do whatever the winner says the whole day tomorrow"

"What if I win?" he asked "You already have to do everything I say I'm leader." She scowled for a second time and the Brooklyn newsies erupted in amusement.

"Loser has to sleep on the roof" he offered "Oh wait you already did that" the laughter swelled as did Brooklyn's anger.

"Loser's gotta perform at Medda's tomorrow night" she said with a mischevious smirk on her face. Her eyes lit up with the excitement of a bet. She'd heard the boys talking about the show at Medda's the upcoming night. Medda's relationship with Jack and past of being not much better off than the newsies allowed her to sympathize with their daily struggles. To relieve the stress every so often she would open Irving Hall on one of her nights off when it would be closed and allow the newsies a free show liquor and all. Spot's eyes danced with the idea and then finally settled on a response.

"It's a bet" They shook on it, both grinning with the anticipation of seeing the other dressed to perform at Medda's. Whatever act they participated in it promised to be a very entertaining night, especially if the King of Brooklyn was going to dance onstage in front of all his newsies. The leader of men lowered to the mere entertainment. They settled the rules that Medda could decide what act they did so long as they were onstage in front of the newsies doing some kind of performance, probably embarrassing themselves for the entertainment of the other.

Grinning wildly she set her cards down in front of her. The face of her opponent was purely shock. As though someone had hit him hard enough to knock all the arrogance from his body. Then his eyes shifted from the icy blue of anger to the rich full blue of amusement. As he set his cards down his lips turned upward into his famous smirk. Brooklyn felt a sickening feeling as she looked down at the cards. Not stage fright, she was not granted the gift of song. Whatever she would have to do the next night would be painfully embarrassing and in front of a group of people who were not really her friends. Her stomach dropped as she stared at the cards trying to change the hand that lay in front of Spot Conlon. Only the King of Brooklyn could have had the infamous Royal Flush.

Thank you to all who reviewed I love you guys

Next chapter personalized shout outs promise

It was up faster right?

Next ones coming soon I swear

Please review let me know what you think so far

--Siren


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies only characters not from the movie.

Chapter 11

The morning after the fateful poker game Brooklyn woke up in Spot's room alone. With no idea where he may have gone and even less concern for his whereabouts she groggily walked down the stairs to start her day. The scene that awaited her was one of boys filling the Brooklyn Lodging House. They were spread out all over with as many as could fit sitting on various bunks and some standing. Not one of them moved, they were all facing the same direction. At the bottom of the stairs standing in front of these boys was the missing Spot Conlon. He noticed her presence as she slowed her descent of the stairs and stared blankly into the room. He glanced over toward her and called meeting adjourned to the newsies. The Brooklyn newsies left the lodging house slower that day giving each other knowing looks. Spot was one of the last to leave and she chased right after him.

"What was that about?" She called to him as she ran out the door of her home. He was a few feet ahead of her and pretended not to hear her. Brooklyn couldn't be shaken off though. She ran to catch up with him and blocked his path with her body.

"What was that about?" she repeated loudly into his face making sure he heard her this time. He rolled his eyes at this.

"It doesn't concern you" he responded forcefully and walked past her. She stood her ground.

"It's something that concerns every single newsie in Brooklyn except me?" She asked unconvinced. That stopped him in his tracks and he turned around slowly to face her.

"All I said was to look out for Queens newsies in Brooklyn for the next few days." He said with his air of authority

"Why?"

"Because I said so"

"Is it really bad?" she asked lowering her voice.

"I'll handle it" he replied his face strong and emotionless. His eyes turned they're cool icy blue that were impenetrable. She couldn't read him at all, and gave up trying. With a sigh and a flip of her straight brown hair she went to collect her papers.

That morning seemed to fly by that day. Compared to every other day where it felt like she would be selling forever, it was midday before she even noticed. It was probably because she was dreading going to Medda's that night to perform for that stupid bet. No words could truly explain how much she didn't want to do it. She was scared and embarrassed before she had even entered Medda's. It would be a lie to say that the thought of leaving hadn't crossed her mind when her fear spiked up. Even if she left and never returned to the life of a newsie, forgetting the fact that she'd have no food or place to sleep again, she just couldn't let Spot win. Well, technically he'd already won, but if she chickened out it would make it that much more fulfilling for him, and she couldn't let his ego get any bigger.

She walked to her park after picking up her lunch from a vendor, craving the peaceful shade the trees provided. Just a little break before returning to selling was just the thing she needed. Unfortunately when she reached the park the safety of the shade was the opposite of what she encountered. There before her what she saw was a fight. It was Spot and someone she could only assume was a Queen's newsie. This could hardly be described as a street fight between two angry street rats. Spot's opponent moved well, it was clear he wasn't used to losing fights, and had probably won every he'd participated in. His streak was over. His movements were predictable and every step he took had finality to it, as though he was going to plant his foot there in the ground forever. While this probably allowed him to throw a more powerful punch then he could have otherwise, it cost him seconds in agility. After watching this fight it was easy to see why Spot Conlon was leader of the Brooklyn newsies. He moved with an ease and grace made it seem effortless. Just watching it gave Brooklyn the idea that she could fight just as well. As though beating this Queen's kid was just as easy as snapping her fingers. He threw each punch rapidly, and never stopped moving his feet. He was ready to jump, duck, spin and do damage at every opportunity. It seemed that it came natural to him; he gave off the illusion that this was truly undemanding on his body. The smirk never left his face as he continued his dance without missing a beat. It was all he knew how to do, and he did it well.

Finally his opponent fell backwards and scrambled to his feet before running off at full speed, bruises and bumps covering his body. His face was bruised on one side, and his eye was badly hurt and swollen. It looked like he might start bleeding from it. After the moment's glace she was given he ran off faster, afraid Spot might follow to finish him off. Spot stood where he was bent over his knees taking in the deep breaths he had denied his body for so long. When he raised his head he looked not at Brooklyn, but off to the side. It was only when she followed his gaze that she saw the young newsie who had delivered his papers that first day she'd tried to sell in Brooklyn. He gave Spot the same grand smile that he'd given him that day. With a turn of his head it was easier to see the black eye that had formed around his left eye. It looked too big for him. He was such a small boy; youth could only protect the innocence in him for so long before something knocked him into a young adulthood. The black eye looked like it took up almost half his face, not settling in the place around his eye but the circle spread out further than any she had seen before. The fist of the boy who hit him was at least 2 times this little boy's eye. Why would someone so much bigger hit a child? Something no one could ever understand. The kid ran to Spot, who ruffled his hair sending that smile right up to his eyes. He collected his strewn papers and ran off, no doubt to show his friend his black eye and retell the story time and time again for any who would listen. Spot looked up, noticing her presence for the first time. He gave a reassuring smile to her worried face as though to say he was handling it. Maybe it was supposed to make her feel safe. It didn't. He winced when his smile grew to big and touched the side of his face. She saw the purple bruise starting to form on his cheek. As much as she wanted to ask him what exactly was going on, she knew she couldn't right then. He collected his papers and left, as did she. It wasn't until later that night that she even saw him again.

After a nice long relaxing bath Brooklyn was standing in front of the mirror of Spot's washroom trying for the millionth time to make her hair do something she could present. She parted it right, left, center, then right again. She put it up and looked sideways at the dirty mirror seeing as much of the back as she could. She gave up on that and let it fall around her shoulders again. Finally out of frustration she bent over so that her hair hung down over her head, and then quickly flipped her head straightforward as she stood so that her hair fell neatly back without a part and slowly moved itself toward the front. She pushed it back with her fingers a thousand times, wasting the nervous energy that was built up inside her. She stared at herself, looking into her own light green eyes. She tried to pour into herself feelings of confidence, but she couldn't.

"Brooklyn lets go" called a voice from downstairs but she ignored it.

She looked to her nose for confidence. She liked it with its tiny round shape. It was better than the wealthy with their long and pointy noses their shape molded from their owner's need to easily look down their noses at others.

"Brooklyn I said lets go" came the voice right behind her, yelling over the sound of the door swinging open. A tiny scream escaped from her pouty lips and she jumped a little, her hand flying to her heart instinctually. She turned around her breathing slightly heavier and saw Spot standing in the doorway with raised eyebrows.

"You scared me"

"Are you ready?" he asked impatiently

"Yeah, I'm ready, let's go," she said walking past him trying to hide her nervousness from him. He followed her down the stairs and out the door. The walk to Manhattan was too loud for Brooklyn's nerves. All the Brooklyn newsies were walking together, and all of them were loud. Screaming, joking, making fun of her, asking her what she was going to do, trying to joke with her. She just couldn't play along, she was so nervous she absolutely couldn't focus on anything else. Except how much she hated Spot for putting her in that position. Technically, though the bet was her idea and she knew this was her own damn fault. She bit her nails, her nervous habit catching the attention of the only friend she'd made in Brooklyn.

"You okay?" Brandy asked her slowing his gait to walk next to her.

"I'm fine" she replied not taking the nail out of her mouth.

"I don't think there's any nail left to bite," he said nodding to the fingernails she'd bitten down to nubs. She smiled at this but still did not remove her finger.

"Okay," he grabbed her hands and put them down by her sides, "Leave the nail alone" he said jokingly. She smiled again and brought her hand back to her mouth.

"Your hopeless" he told her, she only shrugged her shoulders at this. Finally after a walk that seemed to only take a few moments they were standing I front of Irving Hall. Her nerves escalated to a point where she felt numb.

"Here we are Brooklyn, ya ain't nervous are ya?" Spot asked mocking her.

"Of course not" she replied in a daze trying to calm herself down.

"Sure" was his only sarcastic reply that night.

The moment they entered the place Medda met them at the door. Her red curls flowed over the puffy sleeves of her bright pink dress. The two colors fought violently to be the first the looker noticed. They clashed further as the dress puffed out too high on her waist and stopped just below her knee. It looked as though on a shorter person it would have been a full-length dress. Despite these drawbacks she was still a very attractive woman and captured the attention of the newsies the moment they had seen her. After her friendly greetings Spot pulled her to the side and spoke with her about the bet. Her smiling face showed that she was amused by the whole thing and willing to participate, as he knew she would be. Medda and Spot approached Brooklyn together and explained the plan to her. She didn't have to sing, something she silently thanked god for, instead she was going to be in some kind of dancing number with Medda and the other girls. As the newsies took their places in the audience Medda handed Brooklyn a dress.

"Here ya go. Go put that on and meet me in my dressing room and one of the girls will teach you the dance" Medda said sweetly to her.

"Thanks" Brooklyn replied still nervous about the whole ordeal. "Where do I change?"

"Second room on the right," Medda said pointing. She walked down the hall silently praying that she didn't have to do it. Being in front of a group of people who haven't been exactly friendly to her wasn't her idea of a good time. Then again, this wasn't supposed to be fun, it was supposed to be embarrassing. She wished so hard right then that she hadn't made the stupid bet. She got herself into this stupid mess. Inside the room she found a narrow mirror that ran from the ceiling to the floor. There were a lot of boxes overflowing with costumes and props. Random props surrounded the room along every wall. She changed into the ruby red dress she had been handed. It was similar to Medda's in that it stopped short and looked like she was wearing a child's dress that no longer fit. No puffed sleeves for Brooklyn though thankfully, because she would have been most uncomfortable with puffed sleeves on her dress. This dress was a corset top with beading along the bust line. The bottom came out to a full dress but not until lower on the hips, and it stopped a little but longer than Medda's did.

She looked at herself in that mirror from every angle she could think of trying to get used to seeing herself in the dress. It was a failed attempt and she went back to trying to fix her hair. Eventually she gave up, accepted that she looked ridiculous and knew that was the point of the whole thing anyway. For a girl who lived her life on the street in boys clothing she felt completely out of place in the dress she was in. It completely escaped her attention that she looked attractive in the thing, or that red is a color that compliments brunettes nicely. The beauty of it all was lost on her. Accepting her fate she walked back to the door ready to be publicly humiliated.

The door didn't open. She pushed on the handle again. Nothing. She pushed against the door with her entire body weight and it didn't open. She pulled on it, thinking maybe she was opening it the wrong way in her nervousness. Still nothing. She rattled the handle out of frustration over and over. She kicked and banged on the door hoping someone would hear her. The only response she got was the music starting and the roars of the newsies as Medda stepped onstage. Clearly she was not supposed to be the first act up. She heard Medda's sweet voice over the brute screams of the newsies. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and tried to open the door again. Nothing. Still not believing that she was locked in the room she continued to try and open it as if it would unlock on its own.

Then came anger. She rattled the handle until her hand hurt from clutching it. At that point she turned around and lashed out on the innocent objects of the room. She threw props across the room, listening to the echoing sound of them hitting the opposite wall. She pushed herself up against the door time and time again finally stopping when her shoulder felt sore. When she finally stopped she closed her eyes again and asked God to open the door. She asked whoever was out there watching her, if anyone to open the locked door in front of her. She promised she would do anything if the door would just open. She knew that the only thing worse than being on stage would be to not go. She knew that Spot was going to think that she chickened out and never let her live it down. She sat down in front of the door and contemplated what it would be like to die in that room. She wondered how long it would be before someone realized she was missing and came for her. Maybe they wouldn't even care she was gone. She wanted to know if they did this on purpose to lock her in there, and if anyone even used the room at all. Finally when she stopped banging her head against the door in agony she got up and accepted defeat. She took one of the prop benches from against the wall and put it on the floor so she could sit on it.

She had no idea how much time had passed since she'd been sitting in that room, and no idea when or if she was ever going to get out. She was by the wall opposite from the door laying on the bench just staring at it, willing it to move with her mind. Finally, it did. The door swung wide open and an angry boy flew in screaming her name.

"Spot!" but he was yelling things she wasn't listening to, and she wasn't sure if he was listening to her. "Don't close the-" The sound of the shutting door echoed throughout her ears and she let out a long aggravated sigh that almost turned into a scream, and laid back down on her bench exasperated with the situation. Spot stood at the front of the room with his eyes closed.

"The door's locked isn't it?" he asked without moving.

"Yup"

"I thought you were bailing"

"Thought wrong" she rolled her eyes at him. He turned around and tried to open the door. He pushed his weight against it and rattled the handle over and over again. She laughed at this and he turned around annoyed.

"You don't think I tried that?"

That got his attention and he looked surprised as though he never thought that his attempt was pathetic. She rolled her eyes and lay back down on her back and stared at the ceiling.

"How the hell did you get locked in here?" he yelled to her.

"The same way you did!" she screamed back sitting up a little. "If you didn't run in here screaming at me, maybe you would've heard me tell you not to let the damn door closed!" she screamed angrily at him.

"Don't yell at me!" he called back.

"You're an idiot" She replied laying back down.

"Hey this isn't _my_ fault," he yelled to her.

"Well its not my fault" she yelled back raising her head to look at him like he was crazy.

"Let's just find another way out," he said calmly. She rolled her eyes at him.

"How'd you find me?" she asked

"The shows over" he responded. "I asked Medda what the hell happened with u and she said she told you to meet her in her dressing room and you never came. So I asked where she sent you and she said second room on the right. I was expecting to meet an open window."

"So everyone's leaving?"

"I guess"

"How the hell are we gonna get out of here?"

"I don't know." When the all-knowing leader admits he has no idea what to do its time to be worried. Brooklyn sat up fully on her bench and started to nervously bite her nails. He looked around the room and finally sat down next to her still searching the walls for some way out.

"Stop doing that" he commanded

"What?"

"Biting your nails"

"No?"

"Stop it"

"What the hell?"

"You're bleeding"

"So what?"

"So stop it," he thundered at her.

"It's none of your business"

"You're hurting yourself!" he said and grabbed her wrists. 

"Hey!" she called out as he pushed her arms behind her back and held her wrists together. "Let me go"

"Stop biting your nails" he held onto her wrists even as she struggled to get them back.

"Let go," she said while wriggling around wildly. He held on firm, the muscles in his arms flexed. She knew she didn't stand a chance.

"Promise?"

"Promise what?" she yelled in his face angrily.

"You'll stop biting them"

"Fine"

"Promise?"

"I promise," she yelled in his face again. Looking satisfied he let her wrists go, and she immediately began biting her nails again. He grabbed her wrist again this time hard, and pulled her closer to him. This time it hurt her wrist and she called out in pain and he said very slowly.

"If I don't see them grow then I'm not going to act like the nice Spot Conlon you see now. Understand?" he said dangerously reading her expression through her eyes.

"Fine!" she yelled pulling her wrist away from him. This time when he let her go he turned his attention back to the walls. She took deep breaths until she was calm, and looked down at her nails. The cuticles were bit to the point of pain and blood and looking at them she felt bad for herself. She didn't know why the hell she did it anyway. As much as she longed to bite them she refrained. There were enough things in the world to hurt her; she didn't need to be doing it to herself.

"Who was that guy you were fighting before?"

"What guy?"

"Oh, come on Spot who was it?"

"Just some kid causing trouble"

She took a deep breath in and sneezed as loud as she could. "Sorry, I'm allergic to bullshit" That one she'd learned from the band of pickpockets she used to run with. She didn't care if it was corny as long as it got his attention. It worked like a charm. He turned around to face her and gave her a hard look, but didn't answer.

"Spot!" she yelled at him just standing there staring at her "I saw that little kid with the black eye and I saw you fight him, and obviously its something that concerns the rest of the Brooklyn newsies so I deserve to know what the hell is going on!" she screamed at him. Apparently the only way to get through to Spot Conlon is to yell.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do." He yelled back.

"He was from Queen's wasn't he?" she asked more softly.

"Yeah" he replied quietly.

"What is that whole thing about anyway?" she asked in the same soft tone. He took a breath like he was going to explain, but then he let it out calmly and turned back to the wall. He started peeling off props that were hung on it and moving them looking for something.

"Is this a territory thing?" She asked raising her voice to be heard over the clanking of the props as he threw then carelessly to the floor.

"Because if your going to let these kids get hurt to gain a few streets of territory or prove you're the best then you really need to think about someone other than yourself for once in your god dam life" She continued screaming even when he had stopped moving. He spun around his eyes as crystal blue as she had ever seen them. There was fire in them and he looked angry enough to kill. "Selfish bastard" she mumbled under her breath when he didn't answer.

"Was I thinking about myself when I saved your sorry ass the other night?" he screamed back throwing something she couldn't see across the room. "Guess so," he said raising his eyebrows at her to prove his point. The guilt hit her immediately; she knew he'd saved her life.

"I said thank you for that" She said meekly unable to swallow her pride and apologize knowing she was wrong.

"Yeah but your quick to forget. I'm such a selfish bastard that I got out of my own bed and saved your life. It's not like I walked away from that fight without a scratch on me!" he yelled at her drilling the guilt deeper into her with every word. "Fucking think before you talk" he mumbled at her, taking a large curtain with nighttime scenery painted on it clearly used as a backdrop and throwing it to the floor. Behind it, hidden, was a window.

"Get up" he ordered, and she obediently obeyed. He pulled the bench under the window and stood on top of it, pushing on the window. It didn't budge. A small sense of de ja vu came over Brooklyn since she'd been in this situation before.

"It's stuck," he announced to her.

"Is your cane wedged in it today?" She asked sarcastically

"Very funny" he responded anger still boiling through him. He took his cane off his belt loop and slammed it against the wall in a release of energy. It scared Brooklyn a bit and she took a few steps away from him, but Spot's eyes gleamed. He took the cane and with the same force he held the gold tip and rammed the other end into the window. The window cracked a bit but didn't break. He put all of his strength behind it, his arm muscles hurting him. After a few more hits the window cracked in the center. Pieces of glass still jagged out from around the sill but he had broken most of it and it was enough to fit through.

"We're getting out of here!" he called excitedly

She squealed with happiness and gave Spot a hug when he asked who's a genius. He wrapped his arms around her waist searing with adrenaline and picked her up off the ground for a moment.

"Should I change back into my clothes?"

"No time"

"How do we have no time?"

"How long to you think its gonna take before someone who heard the breaking glass calls the cops thinking there was a break in?"

"Point taken"

With that he grabbed her clothes climbed on top of the bench and smoothly jumped out the window. It wasn't too high up from the ground, but definitely not an easy task. Spot of course handled it with the same ease and grace that he fights with and made a clean landing even with her clothes in his hands. When Brooklyn climbed the bench the only thing she could think of was how badly it would hurt to hit the ground and break something, and at her station it would never heal. Spot threw her clothes to the ground and reached up to help her on her way down. With her lack of experience in dresses climbing out of a broken window in one was not one of her strong points. The bottom of it got caught on a piece of glass, tripping her on her way out the window. As she fell headfirst the glass moved on to her leg where it cut her deep and then lodged itself into her leg. Spot caught her arms and helped her down as the pain seared through her leg. The adrenaline pumping from the fear of being caught allowed her to run a few blocks when she stopped behind Spot. He jogged back to see what had kept her.

"What's wrong?"

"My leg"

He looked down at it and saw the bloody mess it had become. She was holding it with her sleeve and the blood would not stop coming. The cut was deep and she was losing blood fast. It took a moment for her to realize what he was doing when he unbuttoned his shirt. He took it off and tied it tightly around her leg in an attempt to stop the blood. They walked on toward the Brooklyn Bridge and with every step she lost more and more blood. Brooklyn started to feel light headed and couldn't keep up with Spot. She tried as hard as she could to take care of herself but as they approached the bridge her head felt dizzier than ever. Her vision was starting to blur and she was determined not to pass out.

"You okay?" he asked concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine" she said her stance wavering.

"Brooklyn! Brooklyn can you even see straight?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine" she repeated in the same faraway pained voice that she'd used the first time. He looked down at her leg and saw his shirt drenched with blood. He picked her up and pushed his hand firmly against where the cut was putting added pressure on it so it would stop bleeding. She was dead set on not passing out, but the pain was too much for her. She cried out every few steps he took and finally allowed herself to succumb to the peace unconsciousness offered.

Another chapter up…I'm really trying to put them up faster & this one is a lot longer than the others.

**Racerchick**—Thank you so much I'm really glad you like it. I'm trying not to put them together too soon because I hate that in stories but its been a long time I think its coming pretty soon.

**One Mourning Dove**—Okay I actually added it up because I realized I didn't know how much time passed either and with the 2 days before she went to Manhattan and I remember reading somewhere she was in Manhattan for a week and then basically every chapter after that had one day in it I'd say its been almost 2 weeks, which means almost time for another Brooklyn-Manhattan party. I'm really glad that you enjoy it though, thank you for reading.

Pippa Kelly—You actually brought up a really good point and I meant to write in that chapter that Brandy lent her money to start with and then she played with her winnings but when I re-read it after your review I realized I left it out I'm sorry I always hate loopholes like that in stories, so I'm going to repost that chapter with that in there. Thank you so much for reading & reviewing this I'm really glad you caught that. 

**Facetiouslymischievious**—Thank you! I'm so glad you like it. Actually Hard Beginnings is one of my favorite stories and I think you're a genius to I'm really excited that your reading this. I hope you still like it after this one.

**Nebula943**—Thanks so much! I hope you keep reviewing. Its actually really funny cause whenever I go back and read my own stories I find the typos and get so mad at myself. Thanks for reviewing, let me know what you think of this one.

**The Red Bandit**—Haha I know I almost wanted him to lose a little it would've been really funny but I just couldn't let him. I hope you like the new chapter, Thanks so much for reading & reviewing.

**Swiveling Sharpies**—Thank you so much. I love those fights people get into I think they're so funny! Let me know what you think of this chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own the newsies only characters not from the movie

Reposted after I went back to fix grammar and spelling errors. Sorry about that everyone, I think it's at least a little better now.

Chapter 12

Spot moved cautiously through the streets of Brooklyn carrying the unconscious girl in his arms. They ached from maintaining the weight of another person for such a period of time, but he hid his pain, knowing it could not compare to hers. The streets seemed longer and farther than they ever had before. The task of returning her safely to Brooklyn was more of a challenge than facing the toughest street fighter.

He tried to set her down on the bed as gently as he could but the strain in his arms screamed for freedom from the pain until he was no longer completely in control. Her body was dropped onto the bed rather than placed and she woke up from her unconsciousness for the second time that walk home. She opened her eyes slowly and cried out in pain before anything else. Her eyebrows furrowed together and a hissing noise escaped slowly from her mouth. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her leg rocking as though this could stop the pain. Finally she became aware of something other than her agony and looked up at Spot with such pain in her eyes a knot formed in his stomach at the thought of leaving her alone.

She watched him go with a look of pain and panic. Her confusion quickly turned to fear as the boy left with no explanation. He wasn't sure if she knew why she was in such pain, and explaining would only waste more of the precious limited time that he had. He ran now, faster than he could remember in his life to date. The pain in his arms no longer bothered him as his brain chose to focus on his aching legs. They carried him gracefully as though he knew no pain, he could will himself to continue.

Finally he came to a halt outside a beat up looking apartment building. The stains on the outside looked like they had years to set, and the chipping brick colored paint was almost completely gone. Broken glass lay around various parts of the building where people had no doubt thrown it out they're windows. The poor souls who lived within could say only that they survived, no longer did they live their lives; they merely survived their circumstances. The saddest were on the first floor and it was here that Spot Conlon sought his help from.

With no concern for the other inhabitants he knocked on the door screaming "Doc" as loud as he could muster. Replies came from other rooms and a bottle was thrown from one of the upper floors. It shattered in the lobby leaving an echoing noise drifting in the air. It was that sound more than Spot's screaming that made the tenant open the door.

"What?" asked the man who opened the door. He was young, probably not much older than Spot but you'd never guess it by the look of him. Merely surviving ages a person rapidly. His graying hair had already started to bald. He had even features, but was too skinny for his height. The ascent to adulthood had not been good to him. Crashing noises could be heard from within the house. Little voices screaming at full volume even at this time of night. "Your waking up the others," whispered the disheveled man to the Brooklyn leader referring to the other tenants, who were probably being disturbed by the sound from within the apartment that his open door forced them to bear.

"Someone needs your help, Doc lets go" Spot said abruptly grabbing his arm and trying to drag him out the door.

"Go? I'm not going anywhere. Spot what this?" he asked looking confused and alarmed at his old acquaintance.

"We don't have time for this, Doc. She needs your help" Spot repeated sincere emotion came up to his eyes and he let it sit showing it to his friend. "Please" he said whispering so quietly that he wasn't even sure if the man heard him. He silently hated himself for resorting to this, but tonight it was someone else's needs that were more important than his strong pride. That was all it took. Doc went back into his apartment and returned only seconds later with a small bag and a new determination to help in whatever way he could.

Doc ran almost as quickly as Spot did back to the Brooklyn lodging house. The streets were ones all too familiar to the older man. It was a strange long forgotten sensation of privilege he felt as he climbed the stairs up to Spot's room, something he'd never been allowed to do before. Doc looked past Spot's pointing finger toward the bed where the girl sat holding her arms against her leg, and breathing heavily trying to control the pain.

He asked her to lie down and she obeyed. He removed her arms from her leg and put them down at her sides. It was only when he made a move for her leg that she even thought to ask any questions at all.

"Who are you?" She blurted out quickly between her cries of pain. He gave her a warm smile and replied

"I'm Doc"

"You're a doctor?" she asked not believing it one bit.

"The best you're going to find" he shot back. The reality of his words shut her up and she allowed him to continue. The truth was that Doc was no doctor. He was nothing more than a newsie grown up and gone from the world of the teenage street rats. Doc was just a name, a newsie name like any other. His only qualification as a doctor was that he'd read a few medical books in his lifetime and had helped them out of a few scrapes before when he still considered himself a member of the street world. Where and how he got his hands on these books was a mystery even to Spot. Most newsies do not reveal their pasts, usually because they are running from it.

She turned her head with pain filled eyes and met Spot's light blue ones. The ice was melted, and when he met her scared and hurting bright green eyes he tried to give her a reassuring smile. It was only a start, his mouth moved as though as he was going to smile but couldn't. His eyes shifted from hers to doc and she couldn't bear to turn around to look at what he was doing. Then she felt the pain. The glass moved inside of her and she could feel just how deep the cut was. Doc slowly moved the glass back and forth in an effort to free her leg from its piercing grasp. The pain became too much for the young girl and she did all she could to escape it. The only thought in her mind was to stop the pain, and she ripped her leg out of Doc's grip. The short intake of breath told her that he'd cut himself on the tip of the glass he was holding. This one tiny piece of glass had the power to cause so much agony to those that encountered it.

She looked back up at Spot as he nodded past her. He grabbed hold of her hand and she squeezed it with both hands. She shut her eyes so tight that they hurt, in an effort to distract herself from the pain in her leg. Doc attempted for a second time to remove the glass. This time she dealt silently with the pain. It became so intense she stopped breathing without realizing and sat straight up in the bed. She was squeezing Spot's hand so hard she thought she saw him wince slightly. Finally, she felt the glass graze the surface of the cut, and it was over. She saw doc wrap it in something she didn't recognize, and it disappeared back in the bag. Slowly she exhaled the breath she had been holding in. Releasing Spot's hand from her grasp she fell flat back onto the bed and took deep breaths trying to calm herself. She felt weak and helpless, neither a feeling she tolerated well. More than anything Brooklyn wanted to be able to take care of herself, but at that moment she couldn't. She could do nothing more than lay motionless on the bed focusing on her breathing while Doc bandaged her leg. Stitches were unavailable to the female street rat. He wrapped her leg tightly with some sort of cloth material that his bag contained.

The will to move had left her completely. Her eyes darted back and forth between Spot and Doc, both staring at her as she was being bandaged. Brooklyn couldn't stand to look at their worried faces, and allowed her eyes to close. As the adrenaline left, her arms gained the feeling of relaxation that comes with inhaling cigarettes. She succumbed once again to the calling of sleep and allowed her heavy eyes to close leaving behind the two men looking after her.

They remained frozen in the room with her. Four eyes glued to a pair of closed ones. Both stared unmoving as if each breath she took would be her last. Three of the longest minutes in Spot's lifetime were spent in that stationary silence, until her in her sleep she moved her arm up near her face. This movement seemed to satisfy the entire room, giving Brooklyn the comfort to continue her peaceful sleep, and giving Spot and Doc their cue to leave the room.

Now that they were entirely satisfied that the girl was okay they left her alone in the room. As if previously planned they both stopped outside the door standing at the landing leading to the stairs back to the world of the streets. When finally their eyes met Spot could not form the words he wanted to say. To refrain from fumbling his words and making the fearless leader look clumsy with a deep intake of breath he drew his hand up to his lips and spit into his open palm. He offered this to his savior in place of words which Doc took knowing the full meaning of the gesture. The mood was lightened after the silent gratitude was passed between them and the King of Brooklyn could replace his mask fully.

"Lucky you got that bag huh?"

"It's my medical bag" Doc replied defensively

"Your not really a doctor" Spot could never pass up the opportunity to mock.

"I'm a father, it's harder. I got six kids Spot. Without that bag I know I'd have less." The full weight of his words covered Spot like a blanket of pure emotion that he could never feel. The only relation he had to those words were in that he was a leader and cared about the boys whose protection was his responsibility. Those words he could understand, but the emotion that they were said with, he could not grasp. After a long pause Spot decided that the question was at least worth a try.

"How'd you get the books, Doc?" Spot asked with a curiosity that could only come with repeating the same question time and time again without receiving the answer. His tone that of a little boy trying to get a secret out of someone older and resorting to the only thing he knew to say 'C'mon tell me please'.

"How'd you get the key?" was Doc's response to the leader of the borough he used to sell papers in. Spot could only smile at this response proud that he had known Doc before he had left his boyhood for the pathetic adult standing before him. Twice he patted his old acquaintance on the shoulder to let him know he was satisfied with his clever response. As his form cleared the stairs and turned to find the door Ace appeared standing at the bottom of the stairs staring up at his leader with a convicting look that was only tolerated by Spot because no one else could see it. He descended the stairs rapidly running his fingers through his hair he addressed his second. The second best fighter in Brooklyn, second most unemotional, the second best seller. Had Spot seen Jack more he would have been Spot's second best friend. He could read Spot on occasion. All of these good reasons to be named Spot's second in command and none of them the truth.

"What happened today?" Ace asked him his tone low and serious.

"Brooklyn cut her leg" Spot replied automatically.

Ace rolled his eyes at this answer unsatisfied.

"Yes, I saw that when you carried her in here. Not what I meant."

"I know"

"You fought Reflex today?" Ace asked his voice serious again. The queen's newsie even named for his good reflexes was still no match for Spot Conlon's natural ability.

"Yeah" Spot responded as minimally as he could. His tone suggesting that he barely believed it himself.

"That's not good, Spot"

"You're telling me," Spot continued in his unaffected sarcastic manner. Ace remained silent allowing Spot to let the situation sink in so that he could have an honest reaction to it. Finally Spot spoke again this time rambling his confused thoughts.

"You know what it is Ace. Just the fact that he had the nerve to fight me. Me showing up should be enough to stop a fight but he had the balls to actually hit me." His brows furrowed in confusion. Spot had proved that he cold beat anyone in a fight time and time again, why would he feel the need to retest Spot's fighting ability now.

"I guess that means he's back," Ace responded, no feeling in his voice whatsoever.

"Back? Where did he go? All he did was leave Brooklyn. What is he now the King of Queens? Leader of those boys they have the nerve to call newsies. What is he doing coming back to Brooklyn?"

"You know what he's doing"

"Okay, but why now? How long has it been?"

"A Long time"

"A long time, Ace. What's Pace been doing all this time?" This boy was named for the odd habit that he possessed. Pacing back and forth was not uncommon, but the way he did it was strange. He did not only pace when he was angry or working out thoughts. It was how he expressed every emotion, as if the sheer motion of walking back and forth was the key that unlocked his emotions for himself to feel and the world to see. "He could've come after me anytime. Why now? He's not even coming after me, he's sending his boys after my boys." His anger rose and he allowed his cane to once again aid him in releasing it. The hollow sound it made in connection with the wall of the lodging house helped to calm his anger once again. "What's that supposed to prove?" he asked in conclusion.

"I think it proves that even the great Spot Conlon can't figure out what he's up to, you're finally going down."

Spot raised his head slowly, his eyes filled with such ice that the blue color turned almost completely white. Stone-cold ice burned in his eyes and heart. He connected dead on with Ace's dull brown unmoving orbs. Those words hit home, his mocking tone made Spot see something in Ace's eyes that he hadn't before, probably because he hadn't wanted to.

"What'd you say, Ace?" he asked his voice staying slow and steady despite the anger and hatred he felt. The betrayal took no toll on his emotions. The trust he felt toward his friend shattered in an instant between them, the broken bond leaving no emotional scar behind on Spot. He was glad he realized it early, that Ace wasn't siding with him. It meant he'd turned; he wasn't for Brooklyn anymore at least not for Spot. Ace must've felt the air turned cold around them.

"He wants Brooklyn, Spot. It's obvious. It was supposed to be his before and you took it from him. It's obvious, Spot. He wants it back."

There was no backtracking for Ace now. He could repeat it's obvious a hundred times pretending to help Spot understand the mind of Pace, and it would do no good. Spot had already heard his slip up, his sarcasm at the words 'even the great Spot Conlon'. Anyone who could say his name with that much hatred and sarcasm in their voice was a danger and a threat to him and his newsies.

"This is not a fucking throne, Ace. You don't inherit jewels and money along with the title 'King of Brooklyn'. You get the lives and problems of half-starved street kids. You don't inherit the respect and prestige that comes from protecting those kids who trust you. You have to earn it, deserve it and take it. You don't get it because it was passed onto you, no one can pass down respect. No one can become the leader of Brooklyn because his brother had that title. You have to earn it for yourself. It isn't true royalty. That's because here on the streets we give a shit. We may be leading the hungry, poor, frozen, unwanted children of the streets, but no king cares as much about his kingdom as Jack or I do. After Jack turned scab I always thought that if there was going to be one of you I couldn't trust it'd be him. I never thought it would be you." He paused letting his words sink in. It showed how fragile Spot's trust was that it could be deteriorated by just an inkling of betrayal, but a break in Spot's trust wouldn't only hurt himself. "Now get the fuck out of here."

Spot couldn't afford to question it. He could never trust anyone to the point where he knew they'd never do anything to hurt him. He believed that anyone could hurt him. It was no hard concept to accept that his best friend had turned his back on him and that now he had to do what was necessary to protect himself and his newsies from whatever danger Ace had undoubtedly put them all in.

"Spot." he protested cautiously.

"Out!" Spot screamed at a volume louder than his cane against the wall and pushed Ace on his shoulder away from the stairs and toward the door. Ace whirled around on him and pushed him with both hands.

"Spot what are you doing?"

Spot tackled him right to the ground. It took him only a few moments to get on top of him. This time when he looked into those dull eyes they were lighted with anger.

"Are you fucking with me Ace? What have you been telling them? Have you been helping them plot against us, helping them plan to attack us? Have you been planning to hurt our newsies, our friends? Go ahead Ace admit it. You know I can tell when anyone is lying; you want to try and lie to my face. You think you can get away with it, just try!"

He screamed down into his face. Ace looked terrified. He clasped both his hands together and took a hard swing at Spot's stomach. Spot flexed his muscles reducing the impact of the hit, but allowed Ace to push Spot off of him and get up.

"What if I'm telling the truth Spot? What if I'm telling the truth and you throw me out on the street and abandon me huh? How would you feel then?"

"You haven't even denied it Ace! What if you're not telling the truth, and I'm naïve enough to believe you. What if I let you stay because we're "friends" and you betray us, and some of these newsies get hurt or killed because of the help your giving the enemy? How could I live with myself then when I could stop it now?" His icy eyes held a deep hatred in them and he reached down into his shoe, pulling out a knife from the pocket inside. It was only the second time in his lifetime he'd even pulled it out. "I'll kill you before I let you kill them" he said the strength in his voice was too assertive to doubt.

Ace looked frightened as he left the lodging house that night never to return again to his life as a Brooklyn newsie. Even when he left the emotion of the night never reached Spot's eyes. He was a master at separating his mind from his heart. He turned back to his newsies, a band of silent boys who now feared for their lives. They stared wide-eyed at their leader who stared back determination. If his second could betray it was now more apparent than ever that anyone could.

"Anyone else cooperates with Queens, I'll kill them" He spoke slowly pausing between each word. He raised the knife and brought it down with as much force as his arm would allow into the mattress that was nearest to him. He stared each boy dead in the eye before returning the knife to its place inside his shoe. The older ones like Brandy who stared back at him with realized fear always knowing what Spot Conlon could do but never thinking it would happen in front of them that way. The smaller ones were paralyzed with fear and the disappointment in Ace that their leader just would not feel. Runner was the only one who looked at Spot with something new. It was pity, he felt bad that Spot had just lost his best friend. He reflected Spot's unfelt pain in his precocious eyes. Spot recognized and appreciated the difference in Runner regarding him as something closer than the others. Something he had never had, a brother, an innocent younger brother with whom to take special care of. He affectionately ruffled Runner's hair before he left them to bask in the silence that he had created.

Spot Conlon assumed that upstairs that a wounded Brooklyn was peacefully sleeping through the chaos his lodging house had turned into. However, it was not only one of them who's past chose to catch up with them that night.

She felt the heat before she saw the flames. The heat surrounded her like the smothering protection of a mother's arms. Soothing at first but soon turning to discomfort. The blanket of heat wrapped itself around her entire body, threatening and taunting her out of sleep. The moment her eyes opened she saw the flames, white hot and red with blood. She wanted so badly to scream, to run and to warn the others but she was frozen to her spot. She stared at the flames, watched them dance, mocking her very being. She was drawn to the beauty and power of the fire. It roared and cracked in a cacophony to her ears, but she could not turn away from it. The fire laughed at her, knowing its own power; it could end her life at any moment it chose. She was too naïve to recognize the danger, she saw only beauty. Her little hands reached up unknowingly ready to embrace the beautiful death that surrounded her.

Then suddenly the scene changed. The fire was gone and only the black destruction was left. The room was covered in ashes. The smell of burnt flesh filled the room and surrounded her as the heat had earlier. The overcooked bodies lay on the floor. Their faces remained perfect; the way had been before the flame's destruction. She was not looking at this one through a child's eyes this time, but at her present age. She screamed in agony at the lifeless bodies but the room packed with people did not turn around. The coroner covered each body as neighbors and policemen walked around the room. Neighbors were memorizing every detail to tell in gossip the next day. Officers were writing down specifics so that writing up their report was easier for them later on. Her leg suddenly seared with pain and she screamed at the ignoring faces that she was burned. That she too needed help from them, but not one turned to her. The salty liquid tickled her cheeks as she told herself that she didn't need anyone's help but her own.

Tears streamed down her face and she clutched her leg with both arms. She was sitting again on something comfortable- a bed. She blinked repeatedly until the dark features of the room slowly made their way into her vision. She was awake and fully aware of where she was now. Roughly she pushed the tears away from her face. New ones involuntarily replaced them. She leaned her head back and had a surge of emotion. She missed them. A strong sense of longing replaced any feelings of hunger or fear that had settled into her gut. The only thing she cried about was her family. The feeling of being left alone in the world overwhelmed her and she could not stop the tears from coming faster. The pain and emptiness consumed her being and then came the guilt.

Guilt for not screaming a warning that night, for surviving when they perished simply based on the luck of geography, for not appreciating them when they were alive, and then finally for missing them at all. This was when logic took over. She knew better than to allow herself to miss them, to open herself up to that pain. Then came the guilt for missing them because of the people they were. Death didn't make them a good family, or good people. It didn't excuse her father's whiskey colored eyes filled with hatred at her mother, when he struck her. It didn't excuse his violent bursts of uncontrolled rage. The death could not help repair her sister's reputation, or the households she'd ripped apart because of her own selfish desires. It most certainly did not make Brooklyn forgive her mother for lighting the apartment on fire that night in the hopes of killing them all.

No matter how bad family life is there is always a loyalty that remains embedded in its members. Brooklyn had no idea why she felt it. She didn't want to miss them, it was a feeling she avoided and suppressed. But at her weakest moments when her subconscious ruled her mind it snuck up on her and attacked before she could throw her walls up in defense. It was the only thing she cried about because it was the only pain she couldn't prevent herself from feeling. The tears came slower now, but still kept coming steadily, cleansing her body of the pain. She wanted so badly to stop them from coming but she couldn't. She prayed that she had imagined the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

The door creaked its way open slowly, revealing a slouched Spot Conlon. Embarrassment hit her hard to be found in such a vulnerable position. She turned her eyes upward staring at the bottom of the top bunk as though it contained the words to get her out of this predicament. She wiped her eyes as quickly as she could manage hoping that he hadn't seen her tear-stricken face. She had no such luck.

"Brooklyn" he called in the tenderest voice she had ever heard Spot Conlon use. At that sound her face scrunched up again and the tears continued falling on their own, ignoring her wish for them to stop. She buried her face in her arms and wrapped them around the knees that she brought up to her chest. She sat in this ball like state shaking slightly and covering her face to hide her shame.

"Brooklyn" he repeated his voice filled with concern. She took a deep breath trying to calm herself. He sat down on the bed next to her relying on instinct alone to direct him in how to act. She felt the bed shift under his weight and wished it wasn't happening. Of all the people in the world she didn't want it to be him to see her like this. She knew she would never be able to live it down. Breaking down to the point of crying in front of the Spot Conlon, known as the most unfeeling boy in New York. How could she trust this boy at such an intimate moment? She prayed to be somewhere else so that someone else could feel her embarrassment for her.

"What is it?" he asked softly placing a hand on her back and fingering the ends of her hair. She put her mask back on as best as she could, ignoring the fact that Spot was not mocking her. She felt as though he were without him having to go through any trouble. She wiped her face as best she could before she lifted her head to look at him. Finally with her breathing calm she responded.

"It's nothing" trying to force a smile to go with it.

"You missed one" he said softly wiping a tear from her delicate cheek with him calloused thumb. She looked down at his hand as if it held her words.

"I'm fine" she tried again to push a smile to her lips.

"I can see that" he said with soft sarcasm tempting her woeful eyes to tell him what was wrong. He couldn't think what to do, and when she turned her head away he gently turned it back to face him.

"Tell me" It was a command. He continued to twirl her hair around his finger as he waited for an answer

"I don't want you to laugh at me." 

"I'm not gonna laugh at you"

"You promise?"

"I promise"

"You swear?"

"I swear, Brooklyn"

"Remember you promised." She reminded him as another tear slid down her cheek. She spoke in a very low voice as if she would be able to say it without him hearing. He leaned in closely so that he could hear her soft voice. She told him about her recurring nightmare and the guilt she felt afterwards. How her family had all died in a fire that fateful November night, but she had lived.

"You can't feel guilty for living, Brooklyn. Your just stronger than they were that's all, willing to fight harder for your life I've been fighting to stay alive since the day I was born and I'm stronger for it and so are you. Everyone's past makes them who they are." She let out a loud hiccup at the end of his short speech from crying steadily for such a long period of time. He half smiled at her and wrapped his arms around her. He rested his head atop hers in an effort to stop her from shaking. She felt safety and comfort in his arms, he became more than the cocky boy who considered himself better than the rest of the world. He was a person, a friend. She felt close to him in that moment. Finally, her shaking stopped, the tears dried up and her red face had gone back to its usual color.

She looked up at him, her eyes still full of honestly and emotion. She smiled, and unforced one that went all the way up to her eyes this time and managed to choke out a "Thank You"

He didn't know why he felt the overwhelming need to help her. He hated seeing her in so much pain. He wanted to protect her from it, to protect everyone from it. How could he save his newsies from things he did not even know? He'd never thought before that each of his newsies had a sad story to tell. Most newsies chucked their past at the door taking on the sole title as a Brooklyn newsie. She kept her past and the people she'd known with her. She carried them with her keeping them alive through herself. That takes a toll on a person, its no wonder she was breaking down. It was clear she didn't want his pity, but he couldn't help think how rare it was a person hold on to their past, especially at their station in life. One thing was for sure she was better than him at burying emotion; she buried her past, and it still rose from its place at times. Spot forgot his past. It was never brought to the front of his mind after he had suppressed it. His seperation of mind and heart allowed him to never think of it again. He climbed to his top bunk feeling a trust toward the girl below him. Whether they liked each other every day or not they were all each other had.

The thoughts that kept swirling in her mind were regret and disappointment in herself. More than anything she felt pride in always being able to take care of herself, yet here was crying on Spot's shoulder. She was unable to get through two weeks without him saving her. Despite the fact that she had been looking after herself for eight years over the last few weeks she had become too dependent on a boy she didn't want to need.

"You can't keep saving me, Spot" She spoke softly her voice rising up to the bunk where he could hear her.

His reply was strong and decisive the way he was. It came in his rough deep voice backed by the power and strength he possessed. It couldn't be argued with. It said more about him than anything he'd said to date. It let her know he cared, at least somewhat about her. It finally gave her the feeling she was home; never again did the thought of leaving Brooklyn because of that boy cross her mind. Never again did she feel that she could leave without being missed by a soul in there. No longer was she free as a bird, she had a home with the Brooklyn newsies and it wasn't just with Spot. The boys of the bunkroom all exchanged worried glances when she was carried in. If they had lost her where would they're entertainment come from? She was one of the only people to get away with talking back to Spot. His words surprised her but made her feel comfortable and safe like his arms did. They let her know that his promise was real, he wasn't there to laugh at her, and he cared.

"I can try"

Another chapter up! Please review tell me what you think.

**Nebula943** thank you for reviewing I really hope you like this chapter let me know what you think.

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**Swiveling Sharpies**Love story is moving really slowly, I'm trying to put them together and make it more real, but let me know what you think of this one.

**Facetiouslymischevious**I know exactly what you mean I'm trying so hard not to make this story completely cliché, I hate that too. Don't you dare think you did a horrible job on Hard Beginnings that story is amazing you absolutely have to update it soon. I will agree with you though that we're our worst critics I cant even decide if I like this chapter before I put it up but I can't think of what else to do with it so here it is. I hope you still like it; Let me know what you think.

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	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the newsies, I do own any characters you don't recognize from the movie.

Sorry this took so long to post I know its been months since I last updated, I promise they'll start coming faster now. This one is the longest one I've written. Please Review.

**Chapter 13**

The painfully dizzy sensation that comes from fluttering eyelids began to consume her. The gentle silence was deafening to her unaccustomed ears. The absence of sounds like feet hitting the floor, crude grunts and vulgar laughter filled her ears as every moment reminded her that they were missing. Slithering in the peace the bed provided she moved into the shade. The light streaming in the window blinded her and her eyes finally found the break they ached for. Her body lay diagonally along the bed hiding her face in the only corner of the pillow not bathed in bright sunlight. She held her position until her sleeping brain caught up with the rest of her body and she regained the ability to think. With her eyes fully open, she realized that she had been left behind. She felt the familiar heat in her arms providing the fuel for her body to move. Anger acting as the food the streets deprived her of.

Rolling her head to the side she looked longingly at the beautiful string of light that rested on the pillow next to her. The peaceful light beckoned her to return to the tranquil sleep she had been in moments before. Her chest felt too heavy to lift. She grudgingly braced herself on her elbows so that she was sitting up, still unable to break the staring contest with the light. It was a reminder that this had been deliberate. They had been instructed to keep silent so not to wake her. It was no coincidence she didn't hear the door creak. He may have used the window. The same window who's warm sunlight stretched itself lazily across her pillow, mocking her for leaving the comfort of the bed.

Rising was an easy task despite her injured leg. The vulnerable skin was protected by the bandaging Doc wrapped around it. Walking was bearable to her surprising gratefulness. The skin breach would not prevent her from selling, even if Spot tried to. The descent of the stairs caused her no pain great enough to stop her. That job was given to the runt at the door. That same sunlight danced through the glass window of a door shining on his sandy hair, laughing at her for the second time that morning. He was a small little thing, desperate for the approval of his elders and steadfast determination in his chocolate eyes. Overcoming him physically would have been no difficult task for her. It was the violet color surrounding his left eye that stopped her. That small patch of skin held her fate in it. A leader so arrogant he considered himself the very definition of the place he led, held little power over her, however, this small boy that could have been his baby brother with his sandy hair and fierce drive stopped her in her tracks. His eyes told her immediately what his high pitch voice told her when he jumped to attention.

"Spot said you gotta stay, and I'm here to make sure you do what Spot says" he recited obviously having practiced this line all morning to be sure he made his leader proud. His head nodded forward at his assertion, his mind's way of physically displaying that he'd gotten it right. With one eyebrow cocked in amusement on her face, she responded playfully.

"Well then I'm staying right here."

"Spot said you'd fight" he demanded questioningly. His small face distorted by confusion, unable to comprehend that his leader could have been wrong.

"Fight you?" she asked sweetly, still smiling.

It was his lips that fell first, parting ever so slightly as they tried not to frown. His brows unfurrowed from their aggressive stance leaving a smooth forehead in its place. His eyes were the last to fall, slowly they lost the courage to aim themselves at the girl's face taking in the ground below instead. Quickly the smile fled from her face in an effort to correct her mistake.

"I wouldn't fight you." she started again "I'd be too scared." Quicker than they'd fallen his face perked up as though it were only one feature. His brows raised up to make room for the excitement in his eyes. He'd regained the ability to look at the girl before him. His lips quivered nervously, considering if he was brave enough to ask the question they ached to pose.

"You think I'm scary?" his meek voice asked filled to the brim with hope, not completely sure if he wanted to hear the answer. A small bend at the knees allowed her to become eye level with the boy. Her folded leg applied pressure to the healing cut and she winced in pain, she had to move around slightly to alleviate it.

"Scarier than Spot" she responded with a wink to the small boy. Runner grinned so fully he grimaced as the skin around his eye spread to allow his teeth to show fully. His small body was barely large enough to contain the pride and excitement he felt from being compared to his leader, his hero.

Unfortunately he couldn't let a sweet moment pass him by.

"Don't tell him lies Brooklyn." came a self-assured deeper voice. Her eyes closed tightly in the face of the boy she'd just made ecstatic. She stood slowly wondering how egotistical a person has to be, to feel the need to be known as the best, even at the expense of the fragile feelings of a young boy.

"We weren't talking about looks, Conlon" she tried to save the boy's face and hope from falling again. Placing her hands on her hips for added effect, she raised her eyebrows at him in a warning to let it go for the sake of the boy. He didn't take the hint.

"Very funny" he replied dryly leaning his shoulder against the whitewashed wall of the lodging house. A small giggle escaped from the third party in the room.

"He thought so." She smirked at Spot while her eyes glanced at Runner lovingly for providing her with the perfect ammunition. He bent to the level she had previously been at to inspire fear through the heart of the small child rather than comfort.

"You laughing at her joke?" He asked non-harshly, squinting his eyes in mock disbelief

"No, at her face." The smaller one answered adjusting the hat that was too large atop his head. His voice held the pride he felt in it, unable to hide his feelings from the world. The Spot Conlon smirk was back in it's rightful place upon his lips, raising his eyebrows toward her he let her know he'd won. Her mouth hung open in true disbelief more at the likeness between the two, rather than his jab of a response.

"That's right." He rewarded the child with his approval. He ruffled the hair that could have been his own atop a younger more innocent head before his prodigy ran off understanding that his job was done. Her eyes followed the young boy, already corrupted beyond repair by the streets, as he ran off at full speed to join the others in their daily toil of a life.

"He's exactly like you" She spoke in reflection.

"You say that like it's a bad thing" Spot accused playfully leaning back against the wall on his shoulder. He removed a cigarette from his pocket and lit it after striking a match on the wall behind him. He carelessly cast it on the floor of the lodging house without regard to anyone else's living space.

"Just what the world needs more Spot Conlons running around" She remarked rolling her Caribbean eyes at the thought of what it would be like. The only answer that came to mind made her smirk back at him.

"It couldn't hurt" He responded taking a drag of a cigarette, and watching the white smoke that fought to be the first to escape his mouth.

"It couldn't help, either" She spoke to herself her smirk widening at her own cleverness.

"It could help you" He shot back catching the mumbled sarcasm. He had an answer for everything, but she challenged him hoping that each argument might lead to a win for her. She couldn't help the momentary recoil she experienced from knowing the truth in his words. She covered it quickly beginning the battle again.

"Like you helped me this morning?" It was impossible to hide the traces of anger in her voice.

"Exactly" he responded nonchalantly

"Conlon, you left me here" She tried again, this time wanting to address the issue that had been bothering her all morning.

"Exactly" he repeated exhaling in little perfect circles. His tranquility mocked her as it always did. It lit the spark inside of her and she lost control over the anger that she needed to release.

"Well I hope you brought extra papers back here with you because I'm selling this afternoon, Conlon" she spit his last name out like it was a disease of the tongue.

"Dream on Brooklyn." He casually dismissed her words as though they were nothing. He paused to take another drag of his cigarette before continuing. "I finished selling by now." The smoke rolled out with his words, filling her lungs with the anger that his mockery filled her blood with. "and besides your coming with me" he announced. She crossed her arms across her chest and sent the anger in waves through the air using her eyes as a launching pad for her emotion. She aimed them straight at his body, a fortress imperturbable to danger.

"Where are we going?" She asked skeptically.

"Manhattan" Her eyes raised slightly and narrowed so that the bright flame was aimed now at the wall of ice that surrounded his cerulean orbs. Her bitten lips parted to allow room for an annoyed audible sigh to escape. She furrowed her brow unable to comprehend the logic of the boy in front of her.

"I can't sell but I can walk to Manhattan?" She accused her features twisting into the questioning glare. Her sleek hair chose that moment to fall into her eyes, making her look more feminine than dangerous.

"Well, if you don't want to go-" He began raising his eyebrows at her, completely unaffected by the anger she sent toward him. The protective wall he had behind his eyes served its purpose well. He threatened her with being left alone in Brooklyn again, this time it would be the fault of her own stubbornness. She picked up on this implication and submitted to his rule reluctantly.

"I wanna go." She sighed out, angry at herself for giving in so easily, and angrier at the boy for making her. She uncrossed her arms and let them hang limply at her sides.

"You sure you can make it on that leg?" He asked more as a dare than out of true concern.

"Yea, it's not broken" She replied widening her eyes to imply the word 'obviously'

"Alright, lets go" he spoke slowly, as if considering whether he wanted to change his mind and decide to leave her there alone after all. She followed him when he walked out of the lodging house and began scanning the docks without explaining his actions to her. His head drew back, a cue to the girl that he had found what he'd been looking for. He called out to his target, sauntering across the dock unaware of the girl following directly behind him.

"What's up, Spot?" Brandy responded with a nod. Looking past him he gave a smile to Brooklyn which she returned thankful for someone who was pleased with her presence.

"I'm going to Manhattan-" Spot began before he was cut off.

"We're going to Manhattan" Brooklyn interjected emphasizing the 'we' and her place as a Brooklyn newsie in one sentence. Too exasperated to fight for his authority Spot rolled his eyes at Brandy as if to say 'see what I have to deal with?'

"We're going to Manhattan" Spot started again casually turning his head to be sure the girl did not miss the glare he sent her. A warning that her insubordination would not be tolerated past this point was in his eyes. Turning back to Brandy, he continued "So, your in charge".

"Me, Spot?" The boy asked insecurely running his hand up and down the back of his neck slowly, pondering over the position he'd just been given.

"You're third in command" the leader responded matter-of-factly giving him a pat on the shoulder and the confidence to stand to his full height.

"I won't let you down, Spot" he stated firmly, his newly found confidence growing.

"I know you won't" Spot said, turning and flicking his cigarette butt into the dark water below them. Brandy smiled to himself remaining in his place on the dock no doubt basking in the glow of the torch being passed from the famous leader of Brooklyn to himself.

Without another word to anyone Spot continued along his way up the dock in the direction of the bridge. He kept his walk a few paces ahead of her, leading her through the streets of Brooklyn. Their positions on the street reflected the way he saw the situation in his mind. He, as a strong leader making decisions, and as his newsie she followed whatever path he chose without any considerings or opinions of her own. Her mind worked differently. While she understood that this 'silent treatment' was punishment for interrupting him on the dock, she thought his behavior childish and overly dramatic. She refused to be treated as an insignificant follower and could not resist the opportunity to make it known.

The sun was strong for that time of year, maybe it was because early spring had finally turned to late spring, maybe because she was already heated from her treatment that morning. The sun was intense, not like the intensity that could be found within ice blue eyes, but enough for the short run between her and Spot to overheat her. She was unable to speak at first, instead focusing on taking the breaths that she'd been deprived of when sprinting in the sunlight. It's eternal happiness mocked her annoyance at that moment with its optimistic attempt to warm her frozen heart with its rays. She did not feel the sweet warmth on her back, only the bothersome hair that stuck to the back of her neck. She pulled her hair back and held it up and away from her neck. She twisted the polished strands around her finger until it made a bun in the back of her head. After holding it there for a moment and lifting her head to face the open sky she loosened her grip on it and took in the sweet air above her. When she released the ball it fell out in a chestnut wave down her back, bouncing fluidly off of her back to the beat of her gait. By the end of this ritual Spot had increased his walk to leave her a few paces behind again, caught in her own relaxation techniques she only gained knowledge of his rudeness when she brought her head back down gazing forward once again.

"Spot!" she called after him expecting him to stop. His blatant disregard for her did not go unnoticed.

"Spot! Wait!" she repeated louder, the back of her mind trying to rationalize his behavior by suggesting that maybe he hadn't heard her. When that didn't get a reaction from him she told herself she never really thought it would.

"Spot! My leg!" she called out to him, her unequal breathing sounding to him as though it was twisted and distorted by pain. His stubbornness was overcome by his genuine concern and after a momentary pause he turned around grudgingly and crossed the distance between them as quickly as his legs would carry him.

"You need to go back?" he asked worriedly this time his voice was void of all sarcasm. The threats and the dare gone from his tone and replaced by the need to help her. She stood up straight, removing her hands from her knees and placing them behind her neck removing her hair from the back of beginning her cooling ritual again. This time she mocked him with her tranquility, relishing in the fact that she was usually on the other end of this ordeal.

"No." She stated calmly pausing for a moment to intake a deep, relaxing breath. She closed her eyes and allowed her muscles to release their tension as the ball of silk fell from its place and wrapped itself about her body tightly. "You wouldn't answer me" she accused cockily, crossing her arms across her body, and raising her eyebrows condemning his behavior. Her very stance exuded confidence, as she stole the smirk from him and placed it upon her own raw lips. There was no doubt about it. She was Brooklyn.

He let out an annoyed sigh and the blue in his eyes shifted from cerulean to crystal, once again piercing through her lime ones. This time, however, the daggers were unable to stab anything soft enough to leave a mark. She'd finally been able to build her own bulwark to protect her emotions from him. He raised his eyebrows swiftly in surprise at her current strength. His mind could not comprehend that this was the same girl crying in his arms the night before. The dawn of each day truly is a new beginning. He turned without a response and took a few steps as if he was going to leave her behind him again. He turned when he did not sense her presence next to him and called her to him with his eyes. She met his pace walking as an equal to the leader of Brooklyn, fighting hard enough to keep herself from being crushed into submission. Her mind wandered back to the conversation on the dock, laughing internally that a small comment like she made could irritate Spot.

The silence between them was thicker than even the heaviest fog and she felt its pressure weighing down on her stronger than the sun's rays. She weighed her options carefully realizing that breaking this silence was risking throwing Spot into another one of his moods. Allowing this silence to continue kept her in a state of confusion and she chose her own sanity over Spot's in the end.

"What was that all about?" she asked softly not meeting his eyes, realizing that handling this the wrong way would lead to her to another fight for equality.

"Someone has to be left in charge while I'm gone" he responded matter-of-factly, his tone held even to give away nothing.

"Thank you for stating the obvious" She responded sarcastically at him. Her smirk spread to a smile, playfully mocking his secrecy on the subject without jeopardizing the newly found peace between them. "I meant why Brandy?" She continued her voice becoming soft and serious again. He ignored the sobriety and chose instead to respond to her playfulness.

"Why not Brandy?" he joked smiling himself, attempting to dodge the question with his own. She offered him no pass on the subject, knowing that any answer to her next question could not be played off as a joke.

"Why not Ace?" She asked ignoring the thought in her head warning her she was going to push him to far.

"None of your business" he responded after a long silence-filled pause. He directed his attention to rolling up the sleeves of his shirt higher to battle the heat, rather than at his interrogator.

"Of course it is, I'm a Brooklyn newsie" she responded hotly, her anger boiling over. She was no longer being careful to avoid Spot Conlon's rage. She chose, instead, to succumb to her own. She could not accept being treated as an insignificant outcast. This wasn't something Spot was hiding from all his newsies, just her.

"Thank your for stating the obvious" he repeated her own words back to her nastier than she had delivered him. His need to always be the best made her heated blood boil, becoming too much for her arms to remain still. She involuntarily ran a hand through her hair disturbing its natural peace.

"Spot!" she yelled loudly on the street the way a mother might scold her son. She forced the anger out of her in the one syllable she released, leaving her feeling internally light and empty.

"What?" he yelled back the loudness of her voice startled him, and he jumped back a little bit as though she had gone to hit him. The genuine surprise held within his widened eyes provided amusement for her, and she couldn't help laughing at the shocked expression on his face.

"Answer my question" She yelled loudly, but this with sweet laughter, not anger, backing up her words.

"What?" he asked innocently as if perhaps by some miracle she had forgotten what they had been talking about. Immediately upon speaking he rolled his eyes at his own response, already his mind was searching for the words he would need.

"Ace?" her one worded question held the weight of its importance in the single syllable. Her demeanor changing again to match the mood of the grim conversation

"Ace isn't for Brooklyn anymore" Spot responded slowly finally giving in to her persistence. He chose his words carefully taking necessary precautions not to stumble upon the key that would unlock his hidden emotions, and bare his soul to the judgmental streets they walked on. Such an accident could expose him as just another human, instead of the emotionless King of Brooklyn he chose to be.

"Oh" She responded nodding her head slowly as if she understood what this meant. She waited patiently for an elaboration, so that she could also bear the full burden of life as a newsie.

"That means that Ace is in Queens." he finally released his secret to her, sensing that she was expecting more than he'd offered to her. He couldn't help being grateful that she'd allowed him time to find words that he could speak without a reaction.

"Oh" She repeated this time in true understanding of the words. The fog of guilt moved in around her despite the joyful sunlight beating down on her. The guilt settled upon her like the heaviest of quilts, and she pulled at the ends of her hair to release some of the emotion. She had to get rid of it somehow. She survived differently than the leader next to her did. Both knew of the danger emotion would lead them to on the streets. He buried his, locking it in a safe and guarding it with his many layers of cockiness, anger, and sarcasm. She threw hers away, releasing them the moment she felt them in the hopes that they would never come back to haunt her. Unfortunately her plan failed her in the darkest of nights when her mind lacked the ability to protect her from the past. His weighed on him more and more each day.

"I'm sorry" she broke the silence, filling the empty space with the guilt that had momentarily suffocated her.

"He will be too" Spot responded threateningly. The anger was protecting him from feeling anything else toward Ace for his actions. The only response to betrayal that Spot Conlon could allow himself to partake in was revenge.

"I'm sorry anyway" She repeated this time sincerity floating in her voice. This one wasn't an attempt to alleviate her being of unwanted emotions. She was sorry that he had lost his best friend. She was able to understand the pain that must cause and wished that he didn't have to own that pain. She genuinely felt emotion for another person and that in itself was a miracle. He understood the heartfelt emotion behind the words this time and took it from her gratefully. He wrapped a single arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. He squeezed her shoulder tightly against himself for a moment, letting the emotion hang in the air around them for a moment before burying it with the others. He released her, and she resumed her gait beside him, understanding the gesture to mean 'thank you'. She was glad they didn't need ridiculous words to understand each other. If they had to speak out loud about their feelings neither of them would have been able to lower their guard enough to let the other in.

They entered the lodging house to a plethora of different greetings. Jack stepped forward silently, surprised to see Spot the afternoon before their bimonthly get together. Blink and Mush called out their 'heyas' to both Spot and Brooklyn their voices clashing, fighting to be the first one the visitors heard. Les drew himself closer to his big brother, pulling his wooden sword close to his own body in fear of the Brooklyn leader. Race shouted 'hello' from his top bunk surpassing both Blink and Mush. With his greeting he sent a soft white cushion spiraling through the air, only stopping its flight when it collided directly with the girl's face. She looked down at her feet as the Manhattan newsies erupted in a chorus of laughter so loud that her groan was drowned out. Spot Conlon himself could not stifle the laughter that barreled out of his throat. She sent him a glare before looking down at the surprisingly clean pillow that lay collecting dirt on the floor of the lodging house. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as she bent to collect the weapon. Race's thick Italian voice could be heard over the cacophony of laughter,

"You didn't think I'd forget from last time did you?" He accused playfully, throwing his head back to allow more laughter to escape from him. When he regained enough breath to speak he continued, "I always get the last word." he declared importantly, shrugging his shoulders as though this was a fact of life beyond his control.

"You sound like him" she responded clutching the pillow with two hands and swinging it like a baseball bat into the stomach of the Brooklyn leader next to her. He doubled over, catching the pillow between his elbows and his stomach. He twisted swiftly snatching the pillow out of her clutches and gaining control. He continued laughing as he displayed his dominance whacking her in the back of the head playfully with the pillow, before sending it hurling through the air hitting Race squarely in his face.

"I do always get the last word" he stated cockily, the smirk back on his face. A few newsies nodded their heads in agreement with his all too true statement. The leader took a few steps forward finally meeting Jack's eyes. He shrugged back his shoulders asserting his importance.

"Jack I gotta talk to you about something" he spoke with authority. As he began the girl behind him mocked his actions. She rolled her eyes up as far as they would go and moved her mouth nonsensically mimicking him behind his back. Blink was the only newsie looking at the girl behind the man and let out a stifled laugh. At this sound she stopped her childishness replacing her deformed face with a smile. She threw a wink to Kid Blink for taking notice.

"I saw that" Spot spoke roughly without turning around. Her smile widened and she met Kid Blink's one baby blue eye again as they exchanged a look that allowed the amusement to pass between them. She sauntered over to climb up onto the bunk Race and Mush occupied, as Spot climbed out the window to talk to Jack privately. Just his presence alone was warning enough for the newsies to know they were banned from the rooftop for the time being.

"Somebody's in trouble" Race sing-songed to Brooklyn who rolled her sea foam colored eyes at him, flicking her wrist as if to dismiss this a trivial, unimportant fact.

"I'm always in trouble" She spoke implying that she was used to this by now. Blink raised his two arms up to the top bunk, pulling himself into a sitting position on top of it in a single movement.

"Wonder why" he stated as he brought a hand up to his chin pensively, sending a wink back to Brooklyn with his good eye.

"Because Spot's a big baby?" She offered shrugging her shoulders innocently, focusing on Spot's choice to get angry over her actions rather than that she chose her actions merely to try at Spot's anger.

"Nah, he's more like the girl in a relationship" Mush chimed in sparking interest from the female party of their quartet. "He always has to be right" he finished receiving nods from the remaining three.

"Nobody makes Spot Conlon do nothin'" Race imitated the Brooklyn accent as if he'd been in the borough his entire life. He curled his hands into fists, bringing them down to his hips and moving his body slightly from side to side as he spoke, comparing Spot Conlon's cockiness to the tantrum of a child.

"True, very true" Mush concluded, as he and Brooklyn erupted into laughter at this imitation of Spot Conlon.

"You do him good" Brooklyn agreed, causing a menacing grin to appear on Race's face. He hopped down from the top bunk, bending his knees low to the ground when he landed.

"I can do better" He promised her, walking over to the wall the bunk was nearest to. The three bodies turned carefully to face him, casting their amusement filled eyes down at the short Italian serving as the court jester. He leaned on his shoulder against the wall, reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and a match. He placed a smirk upon his lips containing the cockiness of Spot's being in that one feature. He struck the match skillfully on the wall behind him, acting as though he was the only boy in New York who was able to do this. Lighting his cigarette, he began to speak as he directed his attention to the small white circles he blew out of his mouth, rather than at his audience.

"Blink" he called to the boy without looking at him, a feigned air of dignity in his voice. "What happened to your eye?" he asked demandingly, with no real interest in the subject registering in his tone. Brooklyn looked at Blink curiously her eyes containing the interest that lacked from Race's voice. Blink did not take his eye off Race, nor did he respond.

"Not going to tell me?" Race asked as thought an affirmative answer to his question would not be tolerated. He took out a long piece of wood from beneath the bunk the stood near, the play-sword of a street child no doubt. "Then I guess your face is going to get acquainted with my cane!" He shouted playfully swinging the sword around in Blink's face. The one-eyed boy swatted it forcefully causing Race to trip and land on the floor below them. In retaliation Race shoved the sword upward repeatedly trying to stab his friend with it, while Blink continued crawling around on the bunk dodging the swings from the sword. Not a single one of them could contain their amusement at the scene before them. Mush laughed so hard he leaned back too far nearly falling off the top bunk, saved at the last moment by Brooklyn continued to laugh until she could no longer find air to fill her lungs.

A ruby colored marble sailed through the air glistening in the light pouring in from the open window momentarily basking in its beauty before it finished its dangerous job. The accomplice collided painfully with Race's rear causing him to jump slightly forward and curse out in pain.

"I like the slingshot better." Spot said unable to keep his face still enough to smirk through his own laughter. The crimson marble rolled along the floor in the direction of Spot as though being drawn back to his master. He scooped up his inanimate ally and placed it back into his back pocket with the slingshot itself.

"What happened to your eye?"Brooklyn asked turning to Blink ignoring Spot's display of power. He cast his one eye on her disapprovingly before he responded

"I cant tell you,"

"Kid doesn't tell anyone about his eye." Race explained "Not even when Spot tried to beat it out of him" He laughed becoming lost in his own memories.

"Brooklyn" Spot called from across the room, not bothering to look over in her direction. Instead he summoned her to him by extending and flexing a single finger. She rolled her eyes at being called to the way an owner calls his dog, and Race sang in her ear again "Somebody's in trouble". She responded with a look that said 'what's new', and made her way across the room.

"Yes?" She asked flipping her glossy strands over her shoulder to warm the back of her neck, becoming cooler each moment it was out of the setting sun. Jack sat on the bunk behind Spot, his head propped up against the wall, his eyes fixated on the two as though he was in this conversation, only too tired to get up and physically join them.

"How would you like to stay in Manhattan?" he asked smirking, honestly expecting little resistance from her.

"Why?" she asked skeptically.

"I just think it's a good idea" he answered in disbelief that she was going to fight him when he was giving her what she had originally wanted.

"Why?"

"What?" Spot asked avoiding answering another of her questions by responding with his own. "You wanted to be in Manhattan, remember?" he asked as though reminding a small child of something he had once loved but sadly forgotten.

"Yes," She agreed momentarily, receiving a nod fro Spot "but now I want to stay in Brooklyn" She asserted herself, pushing her shoulders back and looking Spot directly in his eyes. This time her sureness applied pressure to the wall he had built. Not enough to break it, as she might have hoped, but enough for her to feel the power he normally held over her.

He opened his mouth angrily ready to respond, no doubt, with a 'you do what I say' remark that would have sparked her anger and began her age old battle for equality, when Jack finally pried himself away from his bunk and stepped in.

"Spot, we're all going back to Brooklyn tomorrow anyway for the party, right?" Jack asked cautiously knowing what the experience was like when one pushed Spot too far. Spot did not turn his glare from Brooklyn. The anger they both had within them was being pushed into the other person through their eyes, the intensity equal for the first time. Refusing to lose, Spot answered without removing his eyes from hers.

"Yeah" was the simple response he offered to Jack,

"So then why don't you both stay here tonight, since it's late. We can all go to Brooklyn tomorrow after selling, and after the party you's can decide if she's gonna come back to Manhattan" The 's' at the end of the word you did not escape Spot's attention, suggesting that Brooklyn had any say in her own fate. At the moment he could not adequately threaten Jack without turning his gaze from Brooklyn, who also caught the word and raised her eyebrow at him as if to say she'd won.

"Lights out!" called a voice from downstairs only seconds before he flipped the switch that left them in complete darkness. Night flooded the room instantly temporarily blinding the inhabitants of the lodging house. It was this blindness alone that allowed Spot and Brooklyn to part from their staring contest without either losing face in front of the other. Since both felt as though they had won they retreated to their reserved bunks.

Sleep is a time of complete serenity where the body is so relaxed it requires no movement at all. The mind wanders unfocused and able to reflect openly and tranquilly. Unfortunately this state does not come easily unless one is exhausted, it must he sought out. For Brooklyn that night it was not sleep that she attracted, but worries instead consumed the air around her bed. She hadn't sold a paper or eaten the entire day, leaving her broke and hungry. The pains in her stomach became more intense than the one in her leg. With no outside distraction to avert her attention from it, she could no longer ignore the pain. She looked down at her nails and disobeyed her leader simply to fill her stomach with anything, settling for even her own fingernails. At the very least it proved as a decent distraction from the pain, until she heard the whispering. She focused all of her attention on it, straining her unaccustomed ears to pick up the sounds. After a few minutes of concentrating she was able to decipher the slurred sounds and hear words instead. She didn't know how much time had passed that she had been laying in the dark biting on her nails, lost in a cloud of her own thoughts. It was obvious that every newsie but two had fallen asleep and she eavesdropped on the final two's private discussion happily.

"You think he's working for Pace now?" One asked sounding disappointed.

"I know he's working for Pace" The other one assured him. That was Spot. She recognized the cockiness in the voice that was audible even in a whisper form. Upon identifying one as Spot she decided the other one had to be Jack. Spot wouldn't discuss problems with the Brooklyn newsies because they were below him, and he needed to seem in control of his environment internal and external at all costs. Jack, however, was his equal as his friend, and leader of another borough. Since they were allies he could openly discuss issues with the also famous leader of Manhattan, without feeling weak.

"Why is he back?" Jack asked exasperated. He laid himself down on his bed aggravated at this 'Pace' for causing him and his friend more problems than fate had already dealt them by circumstance.

"Revenge" Spot answered his voice secure even in a whisper that he was right. The second agreed by remaining silent. She waited patiently for the conversation to resume itself. When no one spoke curiosity overcame her and she could not contain herself.

"Who's Pace?" She whispered to the darkness. No one responded or moved as though if they didn't move she wouldn't see them. When no one answered her question she sat up scanning the room as her eyes readjusted to the darkness after being closed for over an hour. Finally she saw them, the two boys sitting up in their adjacent bunks. She stared at them and repeated her question. She saw them look toward each other and finally one responded.

"Go back to sleep, Brooklyn" Spot commanded.

"You might as well just tell me, Spot." She reasoned. "I'm not tired, and I can't unhear what you've already said. Besides I'm a Brooklyn newsie I have a right to know what's going on" She asserted this point for the third time that day, each time breaking Spot Conlon a little further.

"If I tell you will go back to sleep?" He asked.

"Yes"

"Fine" he whispered loudly exasperated with the girl. "Pace was supposed to be the leader of Brooklyn, but I am instead." he whispered angrily through the darkness resenting the girl for forcing him to explain himself.

"So he wants revenge?" She asked unconvinced

"Yup" He answered as though this was obvious.

"Why was he supposed to be leader?" She continued to pry into his past.

"His brother was leader and wanted him to take over." Spot was responding as minimally as possible. "It didn't work out" He said mocking the Queen's leader who was not present to defend himself from it.

"Because you cut off his thumb" Jack snorted into his pillow unable to keep his composure at the memory. Spot laughed obviously glamorizing an event that had probably haunted him since it occurred.

"You cut off his thumb?" Brooklyn asked amused. She leaned back on the bed bending her elbow so that her head could rest in her hand. Her hair fell over her arm like a curtain, softer than the bed she rested on.

"I did what I had to" Spot responded, his demeanor darkening.

"So I guess at least some of the rumors about Spot Conlon are true" Brooklyn spoke suggestively, sparking Spot's interest by making him the subject of the conversation.

"What have you heard?" He asked walking across the room to sit on the bunk with her, naturally wanting to hear more about himself. Jack followed taking his place at the end of the bed, refusing to miss any of this conversation.

"I actually heard that you cut off someone's whole hand, and threw it in the river" She responded honestly, lifting her arm to move her hair across her body so that it hung down only one side of her body, rather than both.

"Who'd you hear this from?" Spot asked laughing.

"One of the foreman's at the mill I used to work at." She paused smiling for a moment recalling the conversation. "Some of the girls were talking about 'Spot Conlon'" Upon speaking his name she changed her voice to a mocking, extremely high pitched one, suggesting that the girls who sat around admiring Spot were inferior to her. "he said 'I'll give you Spot Conlon.'" She changed her voice again, this time to a low growl imitating the foreman. "'You don't get back to work and I'll cut off your hands just like Spot Conlon does'" She continued her growl. Spot could not contain his laughter at all at this and had to cover his face to keep from waking the others.

"What were the girls saying about me?" he asked finally regaining the ability to speak.

"They were talking about how 'charming' Spot Conlon was" She answered raising her voice high on the word charming to imitate the brainless girls saying this, once again. He smirked proud that his reputation preceded him, Jack, however, caught her sarcasm.

"What did you say?" Jack asked hoping to expose the girl for admiring Spot before she met him. Spot looked at Brooklyn accusingly hoping that Jack's clever plan would work.

"I told them all I thought Spot Conlon sounded like a complete jackass" She shot back not allowing him any room to gloat.

"And now that you met me?" Spot asked threateningly implying that the answer needed to change.

"I was right" She whispered through her giggles, refusing to give into his threatening demeanor. Jack could not suppress the smirk on his face from knowing that Spot was walking right into that.

"Oh, yeah?" Spot asked reaching across the bed and squeezed her narrow waist. She jumped slightly on the bed and squeaked like a rubber dog toy. Spot burst out in amusement.

"Ticklish?"

"No"

"Really?" he asked laughing as he continued to tickle her despite her irritating screaming for him to stop.

"Jack! Make him stop!" She screeched out pleading with him. He could only stop laughing at her long to enough to get out of the way, giving Spot full room to torture his victim.

"I can't make Spot do nothing" Was Jack's only response. Spot turned to Jack nodding his approval at him, giving Brooklyn the escape she needed. When he turned his body toward Jack, Brooklyn sat up straight as though she was jerking forward from the pain of being tickled. Her high pitch giggling did not cease at any moment. She turned into him putting her body close against his, as though she hoped this would relieve the pain. After a moment the girl pushed back on Spot with all the strength she could muster, knocking him off the bed and onto the floor with the a sound louder than her incessant squeaking had been. He stood up glaring at the girl.

"You're dead now" he told her, narrowing his eyes at her threateningly. She jumped off the bed on the opposite side of him and grabbed Jack's shoulder's hunching down behind him. Jack rose from the bed and walked a few steps away from her.

"Thanks a lot, Jack" She yelled sarcastically at him.

"No problem" he answered her as though he'd done her a favor. Spot lunged across the bed to grab her and she ran into the aisle between the bunk beds straight through the room toward the window. When she tried to throw it open in her panic she was stopped when a strong hand stuck itself to the window preventing her from lifting it and climbing out.

"Alright, enough Spot I have to go to bed" She tried to sound serious, so that he'd let her pass, but failed.

"I thought you weren't tired?" he accused sarcastically, implying that this was what she got for eavesdropping on his conversation.

"If you let her go out the window you could've locked her out" Jack said confused at Spot's behavior. Brooklyn turned to look at him as if he was crazy.

"Again Jack, Thanks a lot" Brooklyn accused.

"It's what he usually does" Jack cried out like a boy defending himself to his mother.

"You can't lock this one out, Jack. She'll go up on the roof and fight the chimney" Spot said between fits of laughter. Brooklyn could not help bursting out laughing. She had to admit it sounded funny even he did twist the situation to make her look like an overly dramatic little girl.

"You fought a chimney?" Jack asked finding the amusement in this and laughing himself. She put her hands up in defense and began her explanation.

"No-"

"You did too" Spot interrupted raising his eyebrows at her, still not removing his hand from the window.

"No, you locked me out on the roof and I punched the chimney cause I was mad at you" She defended herself, pointing at him accusingly passing the blame for her ridiculous behavior on the boy before her.

"It's always my fault" Spot said looking at Jack for sympathy.

"Exactly" She responded triumphantly, momentarily basking in the glare Spot sent her knowing that it meant she had won. Unfortunately she was knocked down from her high horse by the pillow that hit her in the back of her head for the second time that day. Her mouth fell open in annoyance as Spot smirked flipping their roles, and becoming the one on top yet again.

"Go to sleep" came the half-sleeping mumble of an Italian newsie.

Brooklyn picked up Race's pillow a sense of deja vu passing over her. She reached her arm up holding the pillow above him, as if to simply return it to him and held it looming over him momentarily before bringing it down forcefully on his sleeping face.

"Hey!" He began as he sat up in his bunk, but she smothered his face with the pillow and pushed him back down into a sleeping position onto the bunk.

"Sorry Race, I owed you from before." She stated as though it wasn't her fault he got hit. He grabbed the pillow and shoved it forcefully behind his head, mumbling to himself,

"You sound like Spot"

"I'll get you for that one, Race" She whispered "I promise". He raised his hands in the air and shook them back and forth, along with his head mumbling "I'm so scared" to show her that her empty threats meant nothing to him in the dead of night when he wanted nothing more than to sleep peacefully.

Since the nervous energy that had kept her awake had been released, she was on her way to a light sleep when she heard the whispering begin again. She wanted so badly to ignore it and fall into a blissful sleep where she knew no worries, but her curiosity took over and she could not resist listening to the voices again, arguing internally that it was the other way for her to obtain information.

"What are you gonna do?" She heard Jack whisper to the bunk next to him.

"I don't know, Jacky-boy" he responded retaining the energy that he had just been full of. "He's got Ace, and he knows Brooklyn's strategy. Pace already knows what to expect" he concluded defeated.

"Ace is your best fighter too" Jack added unhelpfully. "It's almost impossible to beat Queens now" he added angrily cursing under his breath at the hopeless situation stretched out before the two of them.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard" She accused angrily into the night-filled room surprised that people so closed-minded and unimaginative could possibly become leaders of their respective boroughs.

"Do you sleep?" Spot whispered angrily back at her, thinking for the second time that night that it was safe to talk only to be proven wrong by a female insomniac.

"The fact that Ace is working with Pace is a good thing Spot." His eyes burned so fully with anger that she could almost see their color in the darkened room. "Ace told Pace the strategy that Brooklyn usually uses, so that's what Pace is expecting you to do, right? So do something unexpected. You have the element of surprise here. You could also probably figure out how Pace is going to respond to what he thinks coming, and then take him by surprise in a way that he can't retaliate to. You have all the knowledge of the enemy all you have to do is use it" Silence filled the room, the lingering truth of her speech delicately floated in the air between the bunks of the sleepless three.

"She's right, Spot" Jack finally broke the silence, believing in Brooklyn's words, his hope renewed.

"Finally he backs me up" She called out playfully to Jack who smiled at her apologetically.

"Alright, Brooklyn come here" Spot called her over to her, this time as an equal and she joined the two sitting on the edge of Spot's bunk so that she could discuss openly with them. This girl, who at first had been told she wasn't tough enough to enter the world of newsies as a female had fought her way into their world. She didn't ask for the respect and equality she was finally receiving, she demanded it. In only a few short weeks she had been let on the inside of both the newsie operation and the boy.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the newsies, I do own any characters you don't recognize from the movie.

I am so sorry this chapter took so long to post. I know I say this every time but I promise that the next one will be up faster thanks to the fact I finally got a laptop, and can now spend all day writing and editing without my family fighting me for time on the computer. Please Read, Review and tell me what you think.

I'm not sure this chapter is going to stay the way it is. I'm not completely satisfied with it, which is why it took me so long to post at all. I can't work on it anymore trying to fiigure out what it's missing so since I'm planning on reposting this anyway I decided to let you be the judge of it.

Chapter 14

Sunlight flooded into the room drenching the place with fire. The dark stains on the floor tried to escape the light, but it allowed no room for secrets to be hidden. It shone its blinding clarity throughout the room indiscriminately, exposing everything and anything that it could reach with its bright rays of hope.

That morning it was not Spot Conlon who woke her. Instead it was the heavy thud of unaccustomed feet hitting the floor hard after their first night of sleeping on a top bunk. He clearly lacked the ease and knowledge of the boys who slept that way every night of bending their knees to cushion the blow to their feet. The boy looked back at Brooklyn as her eyes came into focus, slowly reminding her of where she was. His speckled eyes held her condemnation in them as he tried to release his annoyance at the girl who'd prevented him a full night's peace.

Her head beat with its own pulse threatening to place itself back on the pillow and return to the careless sleep it had only experienced for a few hours the night before. She flopped her head back on the pillow so hard it seemed as though she had collapsed. She prayed that her head would become stuck in that pillow so that she wouldn't have to rise and face the day. The cloudy thoughts that one can only humor in the first moments of a morning that came far too early filled her mind.

"Up Brooklyn" he commanded as though angry he had missed the opportunity to wake her up himself.

She mumbled to herself as she left the serenity of the warm blanket. With longing-filled eyes she gazed back at the bed promising herself that the next night she would make sure to go to sleep early so that the following morning would not be so unbearable. Her head was beating threateningly from lack of sleep, her body fought with her as she denied it the resumed sleep it begged for. She decided to try cold water on her face to fully wake her up. The washroom was overflowing with the sound of boys.

"Jack I need the shaving cream" Race yelled across the room as Blink mimicked his request, in a girl's high pitch voice, of course. She stood waiting for a sink to open up, finally spotting one at the very back of the washroom. She had only just turned the water on when she was gently pushed aside.

"It's my sink" Spot informed her as though this was merely a fact of life beyond his control. She returned to the throng of people, irritated only five minutes after rising.

"Jack, shaving cream" The thick Italian voice held the annoyance she felt from being ignored. This reminded her of her debt to be paid and she reached past Jack and took the shaving cream off his sink.

"Hey" he called over his shoulder as she sauntered to Race regardless of Jack's pursuit.

"Here you go, Race" she smiled sweetly as she covered his face and chest with shaving cream. The roars of laughter traveled across the room in a wave, with one high pitch giggle riding the cusp. It drowned out the curses of an angry Racetrack as

he removed the shaving cream from his eyelids. His demeanor lightened slightly.

"You know what Brooklyn, I think I need a hug" He said outstretching his arms and taking a step toward her.

"Get away from me!" She screeched and darted between both sinks and boys in an attempt to avoid the one chasing her. He was relentless. He followed her around the washroom with a fierce determination, until he could finally wrap his arms around her from behind. She let out an ear splitting scream as he lifted her off the ground moving her from side to side so that the shaving cream stuck to the back of her clothing. She let out a groan as she was finally released and rolled her eyes at her own failed attempt at revenge.

"Shouldn't have done that, Brooklyn" Race said as though scolding a small child who hurt himself by his own fault.

"You shouldn't have said I'm like Spot" she retorted putting her hands on her hips.

"You are!" he exclaimed laughing. "Between his marbles and your shaving cream I don't get a break!" he accused the Brooklyn pair as they held mirror images of each other's smirks.

"Always the innocent one, right Race?" Spot asked finally addressing the commotion with his early morning dose of sarcasm.

"You know it" Race responded with a wink, before running off to face the long day of selling ahead.

"Spot" she began as she looked toward her leader, he held his hand in front of him to signal her to stop.

"I didn't bring extra clothes with me" He answered her unasked question. She refused to end her morning resolving to deal with stickiness all day. She went to the now empty sinks and dribbled water down her back slowly trying to wash some of the shaving cream off before the sun could aid the shaving cream in annoying her all day.

"Let's go, Brooklyn, by the time we get out of here there'll be no papes left" She wasn't sure if it was the water or Spot's voice that sent the chill up her spine.

"You mean I get to sell today" She asked with feigned excitement in her voice. "I almost forgot how"

"You never knew how" he responded sarcastically earning himself a glare from the female Brooklyn.

The rain came down so lightly it merely tickled the skin as it grazed over it. The blinding sunlight that caressed the buildings shone in spite of the rain's desperate attempt to create a dreary atmosphere. In it's weakness it was failing, and the sun shower didn't scare residents off the street to lock themselves into their houses. The newsies wouldn't lose a day of selling because of a little rain. For the clever ones the rain was helpful. People who had gone to restaurants, and shops were looking for any excuse to remain inside them longer, to postpone their rainy walk home. Purchasing a newspaper and reading inside the establishment they were aching to remain in seemed a miracle to them. Even Brooklyn was able to finish selling her papers at a relatively early hour.

Food seemed like a gift from the god, who certainly existed to Brooklyn on that day. It wasn't until the first morsel passed her lips that she realized just how much she had missed its absence the previous day. She could not stop herself from spending her entire profit from selling on food. The only money she saved was enough to pay for her lodging that night. Not even a single penny was left to save for a day when she couldn't sell, or a coin to buy herself entrance into a poker game. When she thought of these things she could not bring herself to care in her gluttonous desire for as much food as she could possibly gorge herself with.

"Give me a bite" Spot demanded reaching over her shoulder and grabbing a small part of Brooklyn's lunch right from her hand. She jumped and turned her back to Spot, squaring her shoulders as if protecting a young child.

"Get your own" She screamed more angrily than she had meant to. Her eyebrows furrowed so close together they were nearly touching. Amusement reached to Spot's eyes, the first emotion she could recognize in them without having to tear his bulwark down. He smirked as if the Queen's dilemma wasn't weighing heavily on his mind.

"Hungry today?" He asked reaching around her as if to grab more of her precious food.

"Get away from me!" She screamed for the second time that day, the familiarity was unnerving. Her hair flew around her head landing around her shoulders in a mess. The only visible thing was the anger that flashed in her narrowed, feline eyes. She struggled to keep the small basket of fruit she had purchased in her hands. She cast her eyes angrily on the gritty streets below them as if it were the enemy. Her eyebrows relaxed, upon closer inspection she decided she would have eaten off the floor if need be. This was the last of her food and she was starving.

"Brooklyn, I'm leaving without you" Spot called over his shoulder as he began to make his way to the bridge. He completely ignored the scene she was making, and the fierce anger that so obviously consumed her small body.

"Wait!" She called stuffing the last pieces of food into her mouth greedily and hurrying to catch up with him. " I'm finished eating" she mumbled between chews when she finally caught up with him. She smiled slowly with her lips sealed tightly together, holding in the food that pressed itself against the inside of her mouth deforming her smile to a bloated, awkward movement. Spot couldn't help but laugh at her.

She walked next to him enjoying the way the rain felt, it was just light enough that it was refreshing. She ran the length of her arm between her hair and neck holding it off for a few minutes so that the rain did not flatten her hair against her head. She kept it constantly moving, knowing the impossible to tame way it would dry if she let the rain have its way.

"Have you thought anymore about Queens?" She asked confidently, as though this was acceptable small talk.

"Since nothing has changed between last night and this morning, no" he responded warning her not to continue. He stood up straight and balled one hand tightly into a fist, the veins in his arm protruded. Despite that she was aware of the fight she was about to cause, she would not relent.

"You've got to do something" She argued with his tone not his words, awaiting the anger that was to come.

"Don't you think I know that?" His hand balled tightly into a fist, and for a brief moment she wished she hadn't said anything. "I know how important this is, I'm not ignoring it like it's nothing. I don't need you constantly reminding me of the situation. It doesn't help"

"Well I'm trying to help" Her voice uncontrollably grew louder with anger, as her temper rose. "What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Sop acting like you're the only one concerned" It was a command not a request. She used the only advantage she had in the situation to possibly hit a nerve in the untouchable Spot Conlon.

"Did Spot Conlon just admit he cares about something?" She asked, a feigned look of shock distorted her features, as her eyes filled with venom. She'd attacked fiercely, and she felt the impact would be much deeper than the bruised ego she'd previously caused. The power she felt was maddening.

"Is it a secret?" He brushed aside her most powerful punch as though she'd merely poked him. His eyes were devoid of life, not just emotion. They weren't well concealed, they were empty. "Who ever said Spot Conlon doesn't care about anything?"

For once she did not speak, she couldn't bring herself too. If he wasn't talking to her his eyes would have fooled her into thinking he was dead. She never thought of Spot Conlon as a person who must at some point care about something. Only as his persona, an unemotional leader. It was only then she realized the difference and her mistake.

Of course he had the ability to care, he took care of every life in the Brooklyn Lodging House. He took on the responsibility of keeping them safe. Beneath the arrogance and sarcasm, Spot Conlon cared intensely for the boys he reigned over, somehow that only made him stronger. It had only occurred to her for the first time to really take his leadership into account as part of his personality. The enigma of Spot Conlon was unraveling before her and he didn't notice a thing. He sauntered on toward his beloved bridge the smirk at home across his lips, while he basked in the silence.

Somehow, she had lost the feeling of power that she'd felt before. It was one thing to expose in Spot something he kept hidden, but to draw attention to something he was proud of only inflated his ego. She had failed to bring him down again, and she realized why it was impossible to break Spot's guard. His confidence was drawn from pride in everything he did, rather than used as a veil to hide behind. Spot Conlon didn't hide behind anything. She felt like a fraud.

The Brooklyn Lodging house was stuffed with boys. They overflowed from the common room out the windows, wrapped themselves around the fire escape, hung on the staircase, occupied the washroom, and continued to enter through the front door. The sight was a lot for Brooklyn to take in, the sheer fact that she knew that many people was as overwhelming as being faced with all of them, intoxicated, and in a small space. Spot stood at the door, his body displayed his natural ease, the scene before them did not tense him as it did to Brooklyn. He leaned against the doorway on one arm and turned his head toward Brooklyn. Surprisingly the glare he sent her calmed her rather than unnerved her. The touch of familiarity eased her tension, and as she regained her sense of composure and confidence she looked back with a look that unapologetically implied 'oops'. She had made him late to his own party.

Upon weaving her way through the sea of people she'd discovered the order in the chaos, and the presence of a new group of people. The women took her by surprise. They were both unexpected and exotic to her. Though she'd seen them on the street, never had she encountered them personally. Despite their similarities, in that both did what was necessary to survive the streets of Brooklyn, she considered herself above them. They sold the only thing left to use in their attempt to survive the cold world they had been cast out into. Because she had retained more than her body as a tool to obtain necessities she felt that their very existence was a threat to her more moral lifestyle.

In their mismatched, revealingly ripped, worn dresses they sauntered around the room as though they were dressed in the finest silk. Their painted faces were done so to draw attention to each attractive feature, rather than used in conjunction to bring out beauty. They looked their part. One by one they worked their way around the room, networking to the newsboys who seemed more than eager to spend their last coin on them. The women were outnumbered immensely by the boys, and it occurred to Brooklyn that these creatures would have more than one customer each simply with her friends. She seemed to be the only person in the room uncomfortable with this realization, and so she chose to ignore the women.

It was a strange position to be in, the only woman in the room not for sale. The boys looked at her strangely as though they had suddenly forgotten how they'd ever interacted with her. As a person who they could not treat the same way as the other of her gender, and since she did not share the desire for those women that suddenly consumed them, they were at a loss of what to do.

She searched the crowd for a friendly face among the unwelcoming hardened eyes of the Brooklyn newsies. She found one as Blink raised an arm toward her gesturing her to him. She started to move through the sea of boys she was trapped in. She was suddenly knocked off balance as someone knocked into her from behind. Whiskey spilled along the floor and feet of those in its spray. Through cheers of encouragement the boys scurried away from the action trying to find the distance at which they could get the best view, and be safe from a drunken, misaimed blow. There was too much tightly packed testosterone for fighting to be avoided. Try explaining that to Spot Conlon.

He came out of nowhere, knocking aside the fighter furthest from Brooklyn and send his own punch hurling into the face of the second offender. Both stood shocked, looks of fear contorted their faces as they awaited their punishment. Spot's knuckles were bleeding, but not more than his victim's nose. He was breathing hard, his hair hung limply in his anger filled eyes. They were crystalline, ice blue that cut right into the hearts of the fighters. The testosterone was gone from them now, their need to prove their manhood replaced by their need to stay alive. Spot did not speak but gestured with his head toward the door so slightly only someone looking at him as intently as his two newsies were would have noticed. They backed to the door quickly realizing they only had each other for support.

A red haired woman pushed her way through the crowd, the hair once pinned up perfectly was tumbling down in huge curls along her face and neck. Brooklyn looked away, unable to look at her without feeling her own self consciousness rise. Pulsating with adrenaline, Spot pulled her head close to him and covered her lips with his roughly. The need to release the excess energy was so great he cared neither about his own enjoyment nor hers, only about the adrenaline that he needed to dispose of.

"Hey Brooklyn, how you doing?" Blink asked ignoring the scene that had occurred, as though nothing had happened.

"Good" She replied looking around as a push from the crowd, attempting to make room for Spot's retreating figure sent her stumbling sideways. Blink raised his hand high to stop himself from wasting one single drop of alcohol on the unappreciative floor.

"You okay?" He asked her putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

"Yeah, I think I need a drink" She said pointing to the mug in his hand filled to the brim with beer. He took a long swig and offered the cumbersome cup to her.

"Try It"

She was wrong it wasn't beer, it was whiskey. It was the shock that made her look like the taste was too much for her. The burning in her throat and mouth was completely unexpected, she drank too much thinking it was a cool swig of beer. Blink reached for his cup back laughing. She jerked it from his grasp, preparing herself this time she took slow, small sips from the mug that she had to hold with both hands. This time it went down without the face of disgust she had taken on previously.

Blink nodded his head in approval at her obvious ability to handle liquor. Let's get you one he said laughing and patting her on the back as she fanned herself with one hand to cool herself from the immediate effects of the whiskey on her temperature.

She lifted her hair off the back of her neck as an invitation to the air to cool it off. She twisted the hair around her finger and held it against her skull in one ball until the muscles in her arm were strained and she had to release it. When the heat became too much she repeated this process with the other arm. The back and forth lasted nearly the entirety of her first mug of whiskey. She was feeling plenty drunk with little body fat to absorb the constant stream of alcohol she was polluting her blood with. There wasn't too much left in the mug and she was determined to finish it.

"Where's the whiskey come from anyway?" She asked feeling sad now that her cup was almost empty again.

"The women help us steal it from the backroom of the pub they work at" Blink responded. She looked up as though noticing his presence for the first time.

"I meant where in this room do I go to get more?" Her laughter innocently sweet, devoid of the veil of sarcasm that usually covered it.

"You don't get anymore" He responded trying to pry the mug from her hand.

"Fine I'll find it myself" She declared jerking the cup from his grasp with both hands, and moving away before Blink had the chance to try again. She pushed her way through the throng of boys who pushed back. Her size had it's advantages, she was able to slip in between groups of boys making her way constantly in the only direction she could turn. She found herself facing the door, left open to allow air to circulate through the cramped building. She looked down and realized that the mug she had been carrying was no longer in her grasp. She must've put it down only a moment ago, but she couldn't remember where or when. She tried to remember if Blink had taken it from her, but she didn't think he did. She gave up as the quickly drank alcohol caught up to her and she felt her muscles relax even more in pleasure.

The relaxed feeling in her limbs quickly turned to demand, as her body craved nicotine. It begged her to find a cigarette to ease herself further into the relaxation the alcohol had created. She circled in her spot, her vision blurry. She concentrated on focusing on the people that crossed her vision, waiting patiently for them to untangle themselves and return to a form she recognized. She interrupted conversations asking people to lend her a cigarette. It did not escape their attention that she did not intend to return it. She was frustrated in her pursuit. She wanted desperately to go outside to enjoy the cool night air, but she could not go until she found a cigarette, because she needed it to enjoy the outdoors. Although this made perfect sense to her, nobody she explained it to took it as seriously as she did.

Frustrated and hopeless she sat down in a chair against the wall that cornered the wall with the door. Next to her was a boy sitting perfectly still. His legs were leading straight downward to his feet flat on the floor. His elbow rested on his knee, supporting his head that was weighing heavily on the fist beneath his chin. Had she been sober she would of thought he looked something like a statue, and admired his ability to remain so still. As it was all she thought was that he was unbelievably familiar, and that she must know him very well. The name was out of her mouth before she remembered who he was.

"Brandy!" she called loudly, although the boy was seated right next to her. He did not move or flinch. She noticed his other arm led down to a second hand holding firmly onto a mug of whiskey.

"What are you doing?" She asked annoyed that he was ignoring her.

"I'm concentrating" He responded without removing his head from the fist it was planted on.

"On what?" She asked averting her gaze to follow his. She didn't notice anything of importance and turned her gaze back to the boy next to her.

"On sobering up" He responded seriously. The fit of giggles this threw her into would have been enough for Spot Conlon to use as blackmail. Had Brandy been sober he would have noticed this as the first, and most likely only time he would ever see Brooklyn acting like a teenage girl. As it was, he turned to give her a strange look and take a sip if whiskey from his mug.

"If you help me get a cigarette, I'll help you sober up" She offered when her giggles had subsided a crooked smirk on her bitten lips.

For the first time Brandy moved from his pensive position. He reached the arm he was leaning on into his pocket and removed a slightly tattered cigarette. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She took the cigarette carefully from him, and with her other hand she slowly removed the mug of whiskey from his. Elated she left the corner making her way to the front door careful not to spill the whiskey or lose the cigarette.

She opened her arms to embrace the cool night air thankful for it. It beckoned her to relax in the calm cool atmosphere that it provided. The thick boards creaked lightly under her gait, and the sounds that traveled from the lodging house to her ears were blocking out the crickets. She sat down with her legs hanging over the dock, it must have been low tide because her feet did not hit the black water below. The only visible thing in front of her was the streak of moonlight on the water. It was the only time she could she anything move in the tranquility the dead of night provides.

The nicotine and whiskey combined created the peace within her that existed externally along that Brooklyn dock. It was one of the only times she felt safe in Brooklyn when night veiled the criminals. She leaned forward to meet the breeze that blew off the water. The fragrance permeated through her body and mixed with the chemicals to create a feeling of pure pleasure.

The athletic arms encircled her waste tightly before using the legs attached to springboard them from the dock into the darkness below. Her instincts drew breath in deeply for her, as she accustomed the muscles in her limbs to moving in a constant motion to keep her afloat. She was trying to shake the hair from her face, but could not remove a hand from the water to help her, or she sank slowly reattaching the removed hair to her face.

"That's for making me late to my own party" The overly arrogant voice calmed the fears it had sparked upon the first syllable spoken. With her shoulders kept below water she felt the soothing calmness she had only seen from the dock. It was ruined by Spot's presence and for that she had to retaliate.

She moved her hands as quickly as she could splashing water around aimlessly in the dark, until she heard his gargled demands for her to stop. At the sound of his voice she directed the water to follow it, exerting as much force as possible into pounding the water onto him. When the water came into full focus, she realized it wasn't hitting anything but flat surface.

"Spot" She called softly into the night, afraid of disturbing the peace. Silence was her only response. Suddenly the darkness engulfed her in it, and she was trapped and alone. The only visible thing was the water moving directly next to her body. She was completely surrounded by the still, the silent, and the blackness.

What started as a louder call to Spot turned into a scream as she was lifted out of the water momentarily before it sucked her back into its abyss. When she broke surface this time she was overcome with giddiness. It was a war of Brooklyn and water was the weapon of choice for both sides. She splashed water blindly around trying to find him. When the water hit something other than the flat surface, she attacked viciously. He was faster and sprayed her ferociously with so much water that she surrendered to the tranquility beneath the surface, only to emerge and begin the battle again.

Their laughter filled the empty air with an innocence the Brooklyn docks had never housed. In the unthreatening water and internal calm created by the whiskey they forgot their struggles for survival. The only thing that consumed their thoughts was the water war they were currently engaged in. Their personas hung in the air around them, leaving them to be young and innocent for a short time. Had they been sober they would have savored this moment as one of the few they would experience freedom, as it was they focused only on gaining the upper hand in battle.

The laughter died down to her own once again. She involuntarily became frightened whenever he left her alone for the recluse of submerging himself below the surface.

The sky lightened, and an aloof blue color seized the darkness and held it at bay. She hadn't noticed it changing before, but it suddenly seemed unavoidable. A soft pink color was creeping its way up the sky, ready but shy to make its debut. The sun was rising slowly, fighting the darkness for control. It was the same fight she found herself in as she was hoisted out of the water again. She kicked at the water below her, but it did nothing to stop herself from being driven beneath its dancing surface.

As she emerged, she felt the aftershocks of tiredness. Her muscles must have been warning her for hours, but she hadn't taken notice. She'd reached fatigue so quickly and her muscles screamed to be released from the task of keeping her afloat.

She swam slowly toward the dock, her muscles depleted of the energy she needed to pull herself out. She reached up hesitantly, to her horror she realized she could not reach the dock. The tide must have been going out, it was lower now than when she'd entered the water involuntarily. As she titled her head upward, she saw his feet first. His clothing was dripping water down onto the dock beside him. The soaked sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing the muscle that had hidden behind the bothersome fabric. His lips were curved perfectly into the smirk that captured his essence in it. His eyes were dancing in amusement, so cerulean that they rivaled the sky in purity.

She reached a hand toward him, against her body's demands to continue gawking at him. He reached his up also in a gesture of goodbye.

"See you later, Brooklyn" he called as he turned to begin his walk back to the lodging house.

"Spot Conlon! Do not leave me here!" She screamed splashing water around her violently, as she beat her hands into the peaceful water surrounding her to release the emotion from her.

He froze and turned slowly to face her, he stood perfectly still as if considering carefully what his next move should be. She remained still in the water, using her aching limbs to keep her afloat. The silk strands that flowed from her head were clumped, and misplaced by the water. Her head was tilted down, her breathing heavy from anger, like a bull about to charge. The sea foam colored eyes were turned upward, threatening to knock the amusement out of his.

"You asshole" She muttered angrily as he bent down to help her out. He coiled his head back, raising his eyebrows suggesting that a person in her situation shouldn't insult her savior.

"If you want to be left in there" He challenged, resting on his legs his eyebrows still high on his face. She was silent, letting the defeat wash over her. She reached her hands toward him again, asking for his help. He bent low over the dock so that he could reach past her hands and get a firm grip on her arms.

"On three" he said "Go underwater and kick off like you would if you could reach the bottom" She nodded in agreement anxious to be back on land where she belonged.

"Three" he said without counting the previous two numbers catching her by surprise.

She thrust herself underwater as far as she could go, aided by Spot's strength pushing her down and kicked fervently until she broke the surface. His muscles tensed and his faced froze as he strained to pull her up. The motion of his arms moving over his head was quick, lifting the girl high enough to avoid the edge of the dock. His legs were not in unison, and did not support the weight of them both. They buckled beneath him, and he landed hard on the dock below him, cushioning Brooklyn's fall with part of his body.

She pushed herself from off the ground and Spot as quickly as her muscles would allow. She shook her arms at her side viciously, in an attempt to remove the excess water from her body. The sleeves of her shirt had fallen past her thumbs, since the water had released the pins from their duty. They slid back into this position moments after she pushed the sleeves past her elbows. They were as determined to stay there as she was to keep them out of her way. They prevented her from being able to successfully remove the hair that was plastered to her face. She trashed about trying to rid herself of hair and water, while Spot's face lit up in amusement watching her. She hadn't realized how close he was until he spoke.

"Missed one" He said gently, almost at a whisper as he ran his thumb along her face, to push the hair back to its rightful place. His calloused hand felt soft on her face and she couldn't bring herself to move or acknowledge it. The alcohol running through both their systems made them brave, their solidarity allowed them to forget the world. He brushed her lips softly with his thumb before he moved his hand into her hair, his thumb still on her cheek as he pulled her close to him.

He met her lips so softly at first that she couldn't be sure if they touched. The second time he took a step closer pulling her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, insecurely at first but her confidence grew with his every touch. He snaked an arm around her waist and pushed her closer to him. The blood that flowed through her veins was warm with alcohol and pleasure. A new wave of this new feeling ran through her every time his tongue touched hers. He moved his hand from her neck to wrap his arm across her small shoulders. Although her body was crushed against him, she wanted to feel closer. Her grip on his neck tightened, and he responded by enclosing her more fully in his embrace. She couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to.

"Get him inside" The voice broke through the thick silence surrounding them and shattered the delicateness of the moment. She was caught so off guard she jumped back into her own skin and out of Spot's arms. They heard hard footsteps hit the steps that lay around the corner from them. They looked at each other both breathing hard, a look of shock on their faces. Spot regained composure first, he stood up straight the infamous smirk back in its rightful place, the amusement in his eyes created such a rich color she could barely look in them. She wanted to slap the arrogant look right off his face.

"Hurry up he could die out there" Cut through the silence with a force of its own. The sunlight came up optimistically promising a bright today. The beauty of the sun behind them casting a glow of pink and orange over the tranquil water basking in the sunlight, proud of its own beauty was wasted on them. Their faces both contorted to looks of fear as they met each other's eyes, momentarily before darting around the corner. Although she was closer he reached the room first, entering the bunk room, soaked and with Brooklyn trailing in his wake.


	15. Chapter 15

Discalimer: I do not own the newsies or any characters from the newsies, I only own characters that are not from the movie.

I suck with updating, I promise to be better every time I post and then I don't update any faster. I apologize. Please review, if you have the time I would really appreciate the feedback, and thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter and to everyone who reads this story.

The world had become a fog to her; it was only days later looking back that she could clearly see anything. The scores of silent boys' faces were distorted in immediate grief, skipping the pretense of denial because a childhood on the streets of Brooklyn made such a luxury impossible. Spot's shoulders hunching slowly, as if the life was leaking out of his able body. The anger followed by the sorrow. The emotions flowed through every person in the room affecting them as though they were one body. The grief so painful that alone they could never bear it, but joined momentarily into one body they could collectively survive it. The memory played before her as though she wasn't there. She was in the body of herself and an onlooker at the same time.

He ran in before her staring at the bed for a split second, without hesitation or consideration and turned for the door. She felt the cold wrist between her fingers as though it had been hers that touched him. She looked down slowly recognizing her own hand on the body below her. She couldn't remember moving toward the body, nor recognizing Runner lying motionless on the bed. The faces all lifted in unison, staring at her in knowing disbelief. Spot's frame was motionless at the door; whatever she'd said had stopped him in his tracks. The great leader brought down to the same level as the rest of them, all joined as one in grief and pain. She had just verbalized their worst fears, and she could not remember speaking, not even what her voice sounded like when she did speak. Confused she looked around waiting for the answer they all had.

'It's no use, he's dead'. The words repeated in her mind until she could understand that she had spoken them. She winced at the harshness of the words; she repeated the gesture when she realized she'd bestowed this harshness on the rest of the room. Their eyes fell from her one by one, individuals finally taking on the grief as people rather than one blind body. Her hand hadn't left his wrist; she waited for the small boy to disprove her own words. She snatched her hand back from the boy when her sluggish brain recognized the purplish color beneath her fingertips. When common sense rejoined her, she knew she couldn't have caused it. Her brain stopped shielding her from the pain and allowed the sights to enter her mind for the first time.

The bruise on his arm was far from the worst looking part of him. Blood and discoloration speckled the small body brutally. His limp arms hung at his sides covered in deep colored bruises. The impact had been severe to cause this level of discoloration. Her first reaction was to be violently ill; the second was to instill the violence onto the victimizer. The blood that ran from his collapsed and purple nose caressed his swollen lips. Dried out and crusting, it seemed to waterfall itself over his chin and wrap itself lovingly around his neck. Her hand covered her mouth to keep the vomit inside her. The blood matted his hair around his forehead. The sandy hair that moved vibrantly when its owner tossed his head proudly, full of childhood and the hope that comes from that age, was hardened from blood, impossible to be moved in its current state. His eyes were closed, not out of respect for the body, but because the amount of swelling surrounding them would not have allowed them to be opened even if the life of the boy had been spared. The purple that had surrounded his eyes two days ago, and had caused Brooklyn a lesser version of what she felt now was a mere paper cut. She turned from the body, her brain just about ready to shield her from the pain and blind her to this sight once again. She felt her body falter under her, doubling over she gripped her stomach tightly to keep the pain from spilling out. The strands of her hair wrapped themselves protectively around her back and shoulders in her hunched position. She raised her head, unable to stand up for fear that the cut within her would be revealed to the boys around her. She recognized the pain within her on Spot's face.

He stood perfectly erect, his features kept perfectly still and straight. The ice was white; the blue had gone from his eyes leaving the deadly frost to overtake them. His breathing was normal, and she realized she hadn't been breathing. Suddenly her brain decided to expose her to another facet of the pain. The smell overtook her body, hunching herself over, tightening her arms around her torso. She couldn't understand how she'd noticed anything other than the smell. The burning in her throat was excruciating, her eyes closed tightly to help her cope with the pain. It left as quickly as it had come. She buried herself even further into the cocoon she was creating. Deeper she leaned into herself, trying to grasp onto some semblance of the person she was, the person who was strong enough to cope with this grief, and with this death. Her small body couldn't take it.

Panic began to hit her, starting with the knotting of her wounded stomach. The knot gave her relief from the cut, a new pain to fight against. It spread through her body, as fast as it could, numbing her from the pain, and leaving a new one in its wake. Her breathing intensified and quickened. The moisture on her cheeks could only lead her to one conclusion. She wiped the tears away hastily, afraid of who might see them. How would she survive this? How had she survived anything in the past? She was weak. Her brain condemned her and blamed her for this pain. Her knees gave in to her mind's assertion of her weakness and gave out beneath her. She fell on the hard floor, her hands digging into the skin of her torso as a life raft. She held onto herself so tightly, afraid to let go. She bowed her head down; folding her body in half over her knees, hoping the pressure on her stomach would close the gaping hole that was destroying her.

Shocked at the sound of her own sob she woke up, a cold sweat covering her body. Shivering, yet sweating she looked around in the darkness waiting for the relief to spread through her body. She dreamed of that morning every night. Three in a row now, and the memory had not become more distant then when she had first seen it through clouded eyes. Each night it became clearer, the things she had blocked from her mind when she was present, returned to her. Every detail was displayed in front of her with a clarity she could not bear. She would relive this horror every night, and it would never get easier. She brought her knees to her chest and bent her head into them. No tears would come, there were none left to cry. None for herself, none for the small boy who's life was stolen from him, none for his friends who missed him and feared the same fate on themselves, and none for his leader. Helpless, and useless she laid her head on her knees and tried to find within herself the strength that had kept her alive before the newsies, when she lived alone on the streets. She could not find it. Defeated and broken, she returned her head to the pillow, curled herself into a protective shell and waited for the same dream to return and haunt her throughout the night.

The sound that woke her was not made from her own grief. The sound of footsteps had woven themselves into her dream, but the crashing sound of glass against the hard floor in the other room made her jump back into reality. Her heart was pounding painfully inside her chest, paralleling the pounding in her head. Ignoring the pain of fear and awakening too quickly, she pulled herself out of bed cautiously. The nervousness made it impossible for her to feel tired. Slowly, she moved toward the doorway that led to the second part of the bedroom. She couldn't find anything heavy enough to use as a weapon against the intruder, and so she kept her distance from the door.

Glass littered the floor of the private bathroom, making small patterns on the floor. There was no light to reflect off the broken glass increasing the chances of hurting herself. She didn't want to enter that small dark room, for fear of what she would find within. She was debating, terrified outside the door. Scared into clarity, she wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed and forget the intruder in her room. The cursing from within the blackness was so familiar to her, a voice that usually even in its anger calmed her nerves, was the cause of the panic spreading. She hadn't heard this voice in days. It seemed out of place in the room she'd started to think of as her own fortress of solitude and pain. She willed him away, wishing that she were once again alone in his sanctuary to grieve.

She saw his figure move past her into the main room. The sight of him had the calming affect she was accustomed to feeling at the sound of his voice. She didn't need to be afraid of Spot Conlon; there was nothing he could do to her. The new feeling although milder did not make her feel safer. The awkwardness she felt at feeling obligated to address him, made her want to leave the room. For a brief moment, she thought back to the night she slept on the roof, considering her options. Then she saw the blood. It ran in a thick stream from his knuckles attempting to turn the color of his entire hand. The crimson river rolled down his fingertips dripping neatly into droplets, staining the floor below them. Continuing its circle, it coiled itself over his wrist covering the blue veins that could've otherwise been seen from his flexing muscle. The thick liquid ran faster and faster reaching his forearm and palm. It dripped monotonously onto the floor, its owner staring down at the stream's path as though mesmerized by it. He watched it curve over his skin, seemingly immune to the pain, or perhaps enjoying it.

She wasn't. The scene was making her sick, bringing back the second memory ever to haunt her before her fully aware eyes. Her stomach flipped over inside her, the fear spread through her again as though it was the first time she'd seen blood. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her body and she thought she would succumb to it, before she finally got control of herself. Still feeling week from almost being sick, she did the only thing she could think of; state the obvious.

"Spot you're bleeding" She said surprise and concern were woven in her voice. His head snapped up, realizing her presence for the first time since he'd entered his own room. He turned his body toward her, an unfamiliar look contorting his masculine features. He folded his bleeding hand into his chest as though to hide it. He looked at Brooklyn as though she had gone mad.

"So?" Anger, rather than amusement, edged his voice. His usually tranquil and mocking demeanor was broken. The anger rolled off his lips in excess, exposing more than the situation called for. The tone of his voice sent a shiver up her spine that she could not control. The involuntary response embarrassed her; she knew better than to be afraid of Spot.

She looked at the boy before her, his arm curled against his chest. He stood hunched over, protecting his weakness, the blood now spilled against his shirt on its way to the floor. He seemed unaware of it, his eyes bore through hers. The daggers had been sharpened, and with the element of surprise he was able to pierce her viridian orbs straight through to her soul. She felt the pain internally, caught off guard by the concentration of this anger. The traces of blue had been nearly washed away by the ice-gray that filled his eyes now. It was apparent even in the darkened room that the color had shifted dramatically. She stood speechless at first, unable to respond to the intensity of the emotion placed before her. She removed her gaze from his, confused by the projection of the anger onto her. She met his gaze again, this time prepared for the fierceness she'd encounter. Her face was one of confident control as she held the daggers off to a safe distance. His anger reached no outlet.

"What's wrong with you?" She asked accusingly after regaining her self-control. Spot did not remove his glare from her, or his hand from its resting position against his chest. He straightened his shoulders, standing to his full height, attempting to use his impressive body to inspire fear. She did not waver in her gaze, holding onto his eyes to prove that she was not frightened by him and expected an answer to her question.

"He's dead, it's no use," He repeated the words back to her in the same dead unemotional voice that she had used to deliver them. He sank down on the bed, his arm kept stationary in its curled position against his chest. His shoulders slouched allowing his chest to fold over his bleeding arm. He used his entire body to protect his wound, his weakness and his vulnerability. Spot Conlon was broken.

The vulnerability snaked through the air, stealing the inhibitions of its inhabitants. Their bulwarks had fallen, their masks removed to reveal the children underneath. Only between the two of them could they afford to be themselves. Vulnerability is dangerous, giving others the opportunity for exploitation, and abuse. This dangerous state is the only one that can allow pain or love to blossom, both happiness and sorrow spring from the same place. With their masks gone, Spot and Brooklyn were not present in the room, only the bruised people those masks were meant to hide.

"It's not your fault" She spoke quietly. Even without the repetitive media of the future, it sounded cliché to her ears. She cast her eyes away from him, taking in the floor trying to decide if she'd said too much or not enough.

He snorted in response, shaking his body in conjunction with the sound. His hunched shoulders shifted awkwardly, his hand drew in closer to his chest. Her words brought him to deepen inside his cocoon. The blood dripped in single droplets staining the white sheets of her bed crimson as he sat unmoving. It did not escape her attention he was bleeding onto her bed rather than his own; it just didn't seem the moment to mention this. Brooklyn doubted whether anyone had seen him this raw before, and did not find any cause other than circumstance for that fact it was her in that room with him. She wished that she could think of something to say, anything that could break the silence she found so deafening. He didn't even seem to notice. Every time she spoke, it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. He was in another place entirely, somewhere he wasn't going to let anyone else in to. She could not take his silence, his blank stare, his helplessness. Where was the arrogance? He looked drained; she could not find any resemblance of Spot in the broken boy who sat before her trapped inside his own world of grief.

"It's your fault, too" Hatred spilled out of his eyes, unable to be contained in his grief. The veins in his arm protruded accordingly with how tightly he gripped his unbroken fist. "You know where we were when it happened." He continued. Although the words were spoken softly, they were menacing, hanging in the air around them acting as a weapon, and a vehicle to release the anger. She recoiled as though he physically threatened her. The sting she felt from the words pulsated as though she'd just been slapped. His voice was deep and angry. It was the only time she was afraid of Spot Conlon.

"Do you realize what you just said?" She asked disbelief clouding her anger, forcing it into submission for the moment.

"I should have been there to stop it" Each word was delivered in a separate breath. He was yelling now, the anger overflowed from his ultimate control, and flowed freely out of his once bottled demeanor. He emphasized each word by driving his cane into the floor so hard she could feel the vibrations from where she was standing. He tossed it cautiously away from the bed when he was finished. Brooklyn jumped involuntarily; a little afraid his aim may have been at her. It was clear who Spot Conlon was angry at, she was angry at the same person. What was at first pity and understanding turned into hot anger quicker than she could realize what she was about to say. The blood in her veins was heating up, burning for her to use the adrenaline and release some of the rage that was building inside her.

"You and your damn ego." Her anger shocked him, and he looked up at her again unable to tear away his gaze. She took in a deep breath and continued against her better judgment. The words flowed out of her; she lost all control over herself. Her words were crafted to hurt, and she didn't care how deep the damage was. She needed to project the pain off herself, and onto him.

"No, Spot, you didn't let him die. These kids live on the streets; they don't get enough food or clothing to keep them healthy. Some nights they can't afford a roof over their head, and you think you let him die? It didn't have anything to do with you, Spot. You aren't strong enough to stop it, and you never will be. No matter what you do, Spot we're all going to die, and you can't do a damn thing about it, but you aren't dead yet so stop acting so fucking selfish."

For her life, she could not stop talking now no matter what the consequences were. From the look of rage, contorting Spot's features she didn't doubt what this would cost her. Even wounded he was strong enough to inspire a fear in her that she wasn't used to in his presence. With the agility attributed only to him, he was in front of her before she blinked. He was standing so close the electric anger between then was crushed by his presence. He looked into the raging Caribbean Sea within her eyes, and his ice-gray swords threatened to stab a fatal wound. He didn't touch her, but he looked as though he longed to choke her for the words she'd let escape her lips.

"Not another word" He threatened, his breath thick with rage and tobacco heated her face. Her nose and mouth were suffocated with his scent. Her eyes narrowed, and she unclenched her fist. She'd made her decision, and just the thought of it released the largest amount of adrenaline she'd ever felt in her blood stream. The heightened excitement was calming to her rage. Defying him made her feel victorious, and she had no intention of submitting to him now. She stepped back from him, to release her senses of his presence. Returning the intensity of his gaze back into his eyes directly, she let out a mocking sigh. The power she felt was sickening, every cell in her body was on fire. The enjoyment she got from this high fueled by causing him pain was as sadistic as she'd ever been in her life. When she spoke, her voice was unshaking.

"It didn't happen to just you, Spot. This isn't about you, this happened to all of us, and we are all just as angry as you are. You have no power over this. Even the great Spot Conlon can't prevent death. You're just a boy, and that's all you are. You feel so responsible for your newsies? Where have you been the past three days? You haven't been helping them deal with this. You haven't been there for them; you haven't been here at all. When things get tough, the great Spot Conlon runs away. Stop being such a coward. You want to be a leader, start acting like it."

His eyes were glued to hers, the anger that poured from his eyes in excess was incapable of causing her pain. She was immune to him now; his threatening demeanor meant nothing to her. She was high on victory, refusing to back down. The adrenaline rush from her defiance of Spot was draining her body of the anger. Her heartbeat slowed, and she took a deep breath that returned the clarity to her rage blinded eyes. He didn't seem to be breathing; every bit of his self-control was focused on restraining himself from physically harming the girl in front of him. His muscles screamed to be released from the torture of restraint. His eyes conveyed to her the intensity of his rage, but he didn't push it into her orbs. Instead, the bulwark was back in place, a thin sheet of glass covered his eyes keeping the emotions to himself. Even the pain from his hand was masked as he moved it to his side without as much as a flinch.

Guilt entered as a player in the battle of emotions fighting for dominance over her, and she could no longer look him in the eye. Taking her anger out on him was dangerous, especially when she related so well with his dilemma. She'd seen death before, she'd felt that blame before. She had felt this guilt after her first experience with death. His similarity to her initial reactions angered her. Although the anger at her guilt helped release it, only the new wave of delayed rage removed the guilt fully. What she was craving was a reason not to sympathize with him, and she found it. The sight of him suddenly made her blood pump warm through her veins. She couldn't stand the heat. Her pulse quickened until her heart pulsated in her head. Breathing was becoming difficult; she was inhaling as much as possible between clenched teeth. Without controlling her breathing, she turned on her heel to leave.

"And you don't need to worry about where we were when it happened, that'll never happen again" She spoke, injecting venom into her words threatening to keep her promise. Spot used his agility to gain the upper hand yet again, beating Brooklyn to the door and slamming it shut as she opened it. His only usable hand pushed against the door releasing all the tension in his muscles that he would normally use to soak the cause of his anger.

His suspenders hung by his sides, swinging from the quickness of his movement. The vehicles that transported his rage-filled blood were visible even through his thick skin. They traced his arms, disappearing under his shirt and reappearing on his neck, proving that they existed where they could not be seen. His eyes bore into hers, reaching no satisfying internal weakness to dominate. The way his lips twitched slightly suggested he desperately wanted to return the verbal abuse he had just experienced. He clenched his hand into a fist resisting the urge to project his anger onto her, any release could lose to a loss of control that he was not willing to risk. With all the strength his muscles possessed he used his fist to push himself violently off the door, turning his back to Brooklyn as she slammed the door behind her.

She pushed her feet into the stairs as hard as her leg muscles would allow to release the rage boiling internally. Her hair flew around her head, bouncing on and off her shoulders as she sprinted down the stairs, the pain in her chest from her rapid breathing took some of the heat out of her arms.

"Brooklyn, what happened?" In the darkened room, she couldn't see the speaker until he was standing directly in front of her. She nearly ran right into him in her decent from Spot's room.

"What are you doing awake, Brandy, you've got to sell in a few hours?" She scolded lightly, relieved that he seemed to be the only one awake. She stopped only for a moment, taming the breath that she had lost control of.

"What happened?" He asked concern and confusion laced in his voice. His eyes were opened only halfway, the pounding on the stairs had woken him from the sleep that was becoming harder to find. She tucked unruly strands of her hair behind her ears to represent some semblance of control. He placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, which she shrugged off coming up with the most simplified answer she could.

"Spot fought the mirror" She answered her anger rising again, her voice taking on the tone that she did not want to answer questions. The solitude of the roof was calling to her, and as she tranquilized her anger, the thoughts swarmed in her head. She shoved past Brandy, and made her way to the window on the opposite side of the room.

"The mirror?" he asked, calling after her in the darkness. His sluggish brain was unable to catch up to the unclear responses and emotions of the girl already half out the window.

"Himself" she whispered, though she knew no one could hear her. She pulled her back leg onto the fire escape, and pushed the window down behind her as hard as her untrained muscles would allow. Without any respect for the sleeping newsboys, she counted the stairs she ascended before she heard the loud sound of the window shutting.

The familiarity of the roof did not help to quiet the rage within her, instead it fueled it by reminding her of the anger she felt the last time she was up there. She looked from her knuckles to the chimney, considering. The desire to release the intensity of her emotion onto the chimney was silenced when she thought of Spot's similar display. At first, she paced slightly, turning around after only one step at a time to coincide with her ever-changing thoughts. She wanted to run, to block the thoughts that were clouding her mind from truly existing. Everything circled through her mind in those first five minutes on the rooftop.

Finally, she laid herself down, flat on the rooftop staring unmoving into the night sky. When the cement started to make the back of her head feel numb, she changed positions. She sat, resting her weight back onto her hands and stretching her legs out in front of her. When her skin had taken on the pattern of the uneven cement below them, she returned to lying down. She could have counted the number of times she blinked on one hand. She was so lost in a world of her own thoughts, that only discomfort reminded her of her surroundings.

Somewhere between counting the number of stars, and the number of people passing by on the streets, she realized the true cause of her anger. On the streets, she had lived alone with no one to protect her, and she had been able to take care of herself. In the years she'd depended only on herself, she'd never come close to disaster as many times as she had since joining the newsies. It was tempting to consider it a coincidence, but the truth was becoming too evident to deny. Her inability to cope with Runner's death on her own proved it. She had become more susceptible to danger because ever since becoming a newsie she had been slowly lowering her guard, now to the point where she was dependent on the newsies. Specifically, she was dependent on Spot Conlon. She felt defeated, and succumbed to the depression that she knew from experience, followed death. She allowed herself to bask in the sorrow, releasing the tension through her eyes. In her mind, she could envision herself leaving the newsies, and rediscovering the person that she had been her whole life. The one who she could count on for the strength to cope with anything. She no longer had the ability to leave the newsies; the human in her had prevailed over the mask she attempted to internalize. This humanity gave her the dangerous vulnerability that left her feeling useless.

She stared blankly taking in the streets of Brooklyn before her, until her eyes were completely devoid of moisture. She would not sacrifice her independence, even if she did feel the need to stay with the newsies. She refused to be afraid of the only power Spot held over her, the ability to force her to leave. Despite what she had said to him, she pulled the strength to function up from where she'd unintentionally buried it. If she was gong to be stuck by dependence on the newsies, then they were going to be stuck with her. Frustration permeated through her body at the though that speaking her mind to Spot could cause him to kick her out, no matter if they'd previously gotten along. The lack of security ironically calmed her; it allowed her to retain some self-sufficiency that in turn permitted her to keep the pride her weakness had almost cost her.

The footsteps behind her made her jump back into reality, her heartbeat increasing dramatically. Terrified, as though the thoughts circling her mind were displayed in plain sight to the intruder to her privacy. The irrational fear of being unsafe in her own mind was so prevalent there was no room for nervousness about another confrontation with Spot

"You're right," Spot mumbled quietly, sitting beside her following her gaze to intake the streets of Brooklyn visible from the rooftop. Slowly, her head turned to look at the boy beside her, as shock froze her thoughts from understanding the importance of what had just been spoken aloud. He did not turn to face her; he remained perfectly statuesque in his stillness. His muscles were relaxed, the veins now in their proper place underneath his skin. His facial features were unreadable, as though refusing to admit to the words he'd just spoken.

"What did you just say?" She asked almost playfully, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice completely. The anger was leaking from her body; she was unable to hold onto the rage that had internally defined her earlier. The desire to respond only to the words that Spot had just spoken, and to disregard they're previous episode dominated.

"You heard what I said," he answered calmly, his tranquility mocking her as she had become accustom to. She let out a long sigh, and couldn't help smirking, even though he'd never turn his head to see her gloat. That was the best she was going to get from Spot Conlon, the familiarity calmed her emotions to the stability she was used to feeling. He mimicked her pose leaning his weight back on his hands behind him, wincing immediately as he did it. The pressure on his hand folded the broken skin of his knuckles together, returning the pain he had fought to hide.

"Let me see it" she commanded as though addressing a small boy. He refused to acknowledge her statement, despite her unyielding tone. Brooklyn reached for his hand, using all her force to remove it from the cement where he was determined to keep it. The blood had dried somewhat around his knuckles, transforming the deep crimson river, to a crusty brown bandage. The natural bandage was cracked in various places, allowing pockets of fresh life to bubble to the surface.

"You need to clean it," She warned him, as he harshly pulled his wounded hand out of her grasp. He turned to look at her for the first time since joining her on the roof; the cerulean color finally lingering in his eyes was refreshing to see.

"It's clean" he responded, his eyes alight with amusement at the chance to claim his opinion was the only one that matters. As he spoke, he inspected the collision of the crimson liquid and the uneven crusted platelets that attempted to keep the former from breaking the surface.

"Not good enough" She answered snorting at the distorted sight before her. The unwelcome mockery was the final symbol she needed to prove that normalcy would return to her regularly imperfect life. As disturbed as it was, she couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"And you made fun of me for fighting the chimney" Running her fingers through her hair to keep it from her face, she was fully able to relax. A smirk graced her lips as the pale sea foam color of her eyes lightened a shade due to the amusement that reached him. "As if fighting a mirror is any better" This time the victorious feeling gave her a tranquil sensation rather than a dangerous high.

"At least I punched who I was mad at" Prepared with a witty jab even when clearly in a losing position, Spot Conlon always found a way to win.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies or characters from the movie I do own characters not from the movie.

Wow it's been a year since I've updated. I'll be shocked if anyone still remembers this story at all. Just in case you do I'm sorry I took a year to update it's unacceptable. To be honest I pretty much forgot about this until I got a review on it about a month ago, and I decided to continue with it, and I am definitely going to finish it. I know this chapter is short but it was becoming too long for one chapter, and I really wanted to give you guys an update so I decided to split it. The other half will be up in a couple of days.

**Chapter 16**

Everything had changed for the street kids who were at home in the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House. Once the Lodging House had begun to grow accustom to his absence, he'd returned presiding over it closer than ever. He ruled as though his presence alone could protect the newsies. One would have thought that a rowdy bunch of unsupervised boys would live in a state of perpetual chaos. Spot's rules were more restricting than their own parents had ever been. The death of Runner caused him to tighten his fist around their home, in an effort to crush out all possibility of harm. Curfew was marked by the setting sun and breaking it was impossible. None of them wanted to test the limits of their already on edge leader.

No one was permitted to sell alone. The younger boys had to be looked after by someone older at all times. Once and only once Spot found out that two of the younger newsies had been left to their own devices, while their elder visited a cathouse with his food money. This walking bundle of hormones sported a distorted and swollen nose with matching black eyes from the injury. Brooklyn had never seen him beat his own newsie before. Although the stories of Spot's rise to leadership were familiar to her, seeing the violence in action was another experience entirely. It was necessary to remind herself daily that Spot was just a boy so that he did not notice the change within her. It would be unbearable for Spot to know that she feared him.

That one day had changed her cool indifference to his reputation. She couldn't be sure whether he'd inflict the same damage upon her should she break his sacred code. In peaceful times, he could be counted on for entertainment from his punishments. However with his Marshall Law presiding over the dangerous state of affairs between Brooklyn and her neighboring borough, there was no guessing what Spot Conlon might be capable of. The pressure and suspense was eating away at him, she had no doubt about that. To beat one's own follower was a sure sign that if he didn't take his aggression out on someone it was going to destroy him.

Nothing had been done or said about Pace since the death of Runner. No newsie, no matter how close to Spot had any idea how or when he was going to seek revenge for the death of one of his own. It was the first time the newsies own form of government had to deal with a murder. Death was common enough among the malnourished and uncleanly children roaming the streets daily, but a murder had never been committed. These weren't an ordinary band of thieves, stabbing each other over food, money or respect. They were a group with a strict hierarchy in place, eliminating any need for personal revenge between their followers. No one had ever thought what to do if their leaders were the ones promoting a personal vendetta. There was no third party to judge the actions of these two. As far as the streets were concerned, they had free reign to act as they pleased. So far, Spot had done nothing, but tighten his control over his newsies and bide his time. Brooklyn knew what he must have been planning, an eye for an eye is man's most primitive response to wrongdoing, but how could the sixteen-year-old boy who sleeps on the bunk above her be a murderer?

Spot must have been losing money. With selling only permitted during the daylight hours, those who made up the slack in their selling by exploiting the drunken barflies who venture out only at night were no longer successfully scraping by. He must have been using his own profits to pay for their lodging, as it was no longer acceptable for a newsie who had mistakenly splurged his precious coins away to sleep outside for a night or two until he learned the lesson of budgeting. Any known member of the Brooklyn newsies was at risk, and Spot was not about to allow the entrance of another dead body.

"I think I'll send you to Manhattan tomorrow" Spot commented darkly. He tugged his gray cap down low over his eyes to block the sun, and anyone else from seeing beneath it. His muscles flexed protectively around his cumbersome stack of newspapers, refusing to admit even the slightest bit of inconvenience at being forced to carry so many at one time.

Brooklyn rolled her pale eyes and cradled her stack of papers in her right arm like a baby. She didn't even attempt to feign interest in his overused statement. He made this empty threat almost daily, promising that the following day she would be cast out of Brooklyn.

"And have them think you can't protect your own newsies?" She'd defended herself with this line of reasoning before, and yet it seemed that when Spot was not in her presence his own mind found ways to rationalize around it, but these revelations never seemed present when Brooklyn offered him this reason for her to stay. He ashed his newly lit cigarette and allowed the white clouds to flow freely from his mouth and nose as he looked behind him to check on the third member of their party.

Everyday since the new rules had been established Spot had taken to selling with Brooklyn. It was an unstated rule that the newsies picked up on by his constant presence with her. No one was to sell with her other than Spot. Her female status made her more vulnerable than the child newsies and no one but Spot could successfully protect her from the threat of a Queen's newsie attack. She had tried at first to argue that she could defend herself, but it was impossible to deny that Spot's presence had kept her alive and safe on more than one occasion since her stay with the newsies. His argument always won over hers, just as she always won the battle of being sent to Manhattan.

Spot refused to sell with any of the older newsies, as it defeated the purpose of splitting them up so they could protect the weaker members of their group. Spot, of course had to take the youngest newsie with him as well as the girl because he had self-proclaimed that he was the only one able to handle it.

The boy was nearly six years old and far from possessing the innocence of a child. He was well schooled in poker as well as slingshots, and carried a pocketknife inside his shoe. Before the night of Runner's death, although jaded compared to the standards of the wealthy, he was an optimistic kid. His chocolate eyes, lit up with smiles could melt the hearts of his elders. The eyes danced energetically, revealing his boyish tendencies and enthusiasm for life. Now the eyes were watchful and suspicious, darkening daily to match his raven hair. They widened only with fear now that his own mortality had been harshly realized. From the first day they sold together the tiny bundle of nerves refused to leave Spot's side, often reaching out to hold onto him in the moments when Spot's mind had wandered far enough for him not to notice. They called him Tiny, but it was only a temporary name. The youngest was always called Tiny until he did something specific enough to earn himself his own nickname.

"Get off me, Tiny" Spot barked at his small admirer, finally becoming aware of the tugging on the back of his shirt. Looking hurt and frightened Tiny dropped the fabric as if it had burned him and reached into his shoe for the knife. He opened and closed it as he walked looking around nervously to make sure that no one would come near him.

"Come here" Brooklyn cooed at the child, offering her hand to the young boy to make up for his leader's cruelty. He looked frightened for a moment before taking her hand and glancing about him once again. It had taken almost a week before he trusted her enough to let her walk with him.

"You want to see my knife?" He asked his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned in towards Brooklyn as he spoke so that he could keep his voice quieter, obviously afraid Spot might hear him.

"I'd love to" Brooklyn responded in a normal speaking voice, attempting to show the young newsie that Spot wouldn't reprimand them for talking. He started at her voice, his shoulders hunching protectively and his eyes scanning the world to ensure his safety. He handed the knife to her without another word, and he watched her as she opened and closed it. "It's beautiful," She whispered as she returned the knife to its owner. He puffed up just a bit with pride and almost smiled at her kindness. Spot was walking five paces ahead of them, his mind a borough away.

From selling with Spot everyday Brooklyn had to bear witness to the changes within him. His ability to find amusement in the anger of others and use it to his advantage was fading. His demeanor had darkened not into fear, but anger. He became livid at the slightest provocation, constantly barking orders and demanding silence from those in his company. The smirk had been gone so long his lips had forgotten the motion, the playfulness gone from him entirely. Fear had snaked its way through the lodging house, replacing the old emotions of respect and admiration the newsies once had for their leader. Even Brooklyn was not immune to owning some of that fear, although she tried hard to battle the one emotion she'd never associated with Spot.

He had stopped mocking the way she sold her papers. At first, she'd taken it as a compliment assuming that she must have gotten better. However, she soon realized that it was not Spot's respect that she had earned but his contempt. Each day he seemed to grow more and more annoyed at his two selling partners, some days ignoring them altogether. No matter what approach Brooklyn took she could not break this new defense and get through the boy underneath. Whatever fluke had allowed her in three nights after Runner's death had been fixed. A more guarded Spot was protected by an even more dangerous bulwark than before. It was a struggle to sell enough papers to make any sort of profit, especially when trying to make sure Tiny succeeded also. She could not allow herself to accept money from Spot again, so she made sure to pay for her own lodging even if meant skipping meals. A life on the streets had prepared her to deal with a constant hunger, not the humiliation that would come hand in hand with Spot's help. She knew that it was partially her fault; she had insisted that he be around more for his newsies but she never meant that his physical presence would make up for the mental absence he continued. No matter how difficult Spot will have his own way.

Tiny didn't waste any time on that warm summer morning. Brooklyn was embarrassed on the days that Tiny sold more than she did. It gave Spot license to mock her mercilessly, although he never took the opportunity. It was an odd thing for Brooklyn to want to complain about and because she could hear the ridiculousness of it, she never brought it up. What would Spot say if she complained to him because he ceased to mock her? There was no way to justify that conversation. He was a fraction of the boy she used to know and her silence on the matter was becoming harder each day for her to control.

"Is it lunch time yet?" Tiny whispered to Brooklyn hoping that Spot wouldn't hear him. It'd only been an hour since they'd gotten their papers and Brooklyn could feel that it was going to be a long day for the child. She watched him as he jerked his head nervously from side to side trying to take in the world and assure himself of his current safety.

"Soon, Tiny. Here you want something before lunch?" Brooklyn unwrapped the bread she had saved from the previous day in case her earnings weren't enough to provide food. She handed it to the boy, still half wrapped in yesterdays newspaper. He didn't wait to unwrap it fully before consuming it. He didn't speak to her or Spot the rest of the morning, only to the strangers who paid him for a paper.

The trio had traveled a far distance from the lodging house. Three people selling in one place exhausts the area much more quickly than one newsie could. This created the need for the group sellers to travel farther in order to reach more people and make enough money to survive. On the long walk home Brooklyn looked down and realized that, Tiny was no longer trotting along next to her. She turned around and saw him struggling to keep up a few paces behind her. When his small legs carried him to her side he reached his small arms up at her, opening and closing his hands in the universal symbol for 'hold me'. She smiled at him, knowing that this amount of trust was not to be shrugged off, and carried him more easily than the stack of papers she'd had that morning.

"Put him down" It was not a suggestion, but an order. Brooklyn's eyebrows wrinkled together out of confusion without missing a step. She continued propelling forward toward a boy who wore an expression of disapproval. She wrapped her arms protectively around the small boy in her arms and looked up into the face of the boy before her.

His cap was still so far over his eyes that she could not see into them, their color as well as his emotion was hidden from her. The stance of his shoulders suggested that the anger that had plagued him this last week was still dominant within him. She was frustrated with his attitude and his lack of compassion. The heat that had been replaced by fear rushed through her veins, and she welcomed the feeling. Her own notion of self-preservation had been forgotten in her effort to defend someone else. She could feel the exhaustion in his small sleep-deprived body. His arms hung loosely around her shoulders for support. She had no doubt that it was taking most of his strength to keep his head from drifting onto her shoulder. Nothing in that moment could have made her understand Spot's wishes. He was moody and wished to pick a fight for no other reason then to make others as miserable as he was making himself. She would never allow him to take out his personal frustrations on a child.

"No?" She questioned into his shaded face. The word was monotone, but severe as she refrained from raising her voice so not to frighten Tiny. Spot's muscles flexed beneath his shirt, the veins were visible where his sleeve was rolled up. For a moment, the fear leaped into her heart before her mind could allow its entrance. Her heart sped up uncontrollably making her feel wild. She did not move from where she stood, not even to take a step away from him. She stood her ground and let the pounding beneath her chest run wild without allowing even a hint of it noticeable on her exterior.

"That kid needs to toughen up. He's not gonna learn to protect himself with you coddling him" The words were spit at her, laced with a toxic blame. She knew they weren't talking about Tiny, but she couldn't let him suffer from hearing himself referred to this way. She lowered him to the ground although her instincts screamed not to give in to Spot's demands. Reacting as soon as he was released, Tiny scuffled away from the power struggle he was currently a pawn in. He needed to put distance between himself and Spot's uncontrollable rage.

Brooklyn was no stranger to the feeling. The heat that she so lovingly embraced flooded into her body, giving her the strength she'd misplaced. The emerald burned dangerously in her eyes. For so long her body had been without this rage, she'd forgotten how to control it.

"Coddling him?" Her voice cracked from over-emotion, and she paused to regain some semblance of self-control. She ran her fingers through her hair, breaking off some of the hardened, uncleaned fragments between her fingers. She was struggling for air. Nothing would have pleased her more than to slap some sense into the stubborn boy before her. When she could finally meet his eyes, the ice within was cool and indifferent toward her. "That 'kid' is far from coddled. He keeps a knife in his shoe! He's tired. We're all tired, Spot. He's five years old. No matter what you do, he's not gonna be able to protect himself against a group of Queen's newsies ordered to beat him to death. What is wrong with you?"

She'd managed to ask the question that had been plaguing the Brooklyn newsies for weeks. The green flames danced and taunted him. The more he stared at them the more he wanted to remove them from existence. She felt the victorious high she'd felt before. It was dangerous again leaving her feeling dizzy and proud. Since his return, she'd been longing to break through that bulwark desperately. It had clouded her mind, pushing out all other rational thoughts until it could be done. At that moment she desired nothing else, the impulse to break through was maddening. She searched his eyes for a change, a response, an emotion, anything to prove that she'd made an impact. The ice remained cool and indifferent to her.

"I'm almost six" Tiny chimed in defending himself where he felt he'd been insulted, completely oblivious to battle going on between his two companions. Brooklyn felt that his voice could remove all the adrenaline from her body in a single word. She was falling fast from her high and desperate to hang on. She couldn't let it go; it had been so hard to get the rage to return to her. For once, she didn't want to release the emotion as soon as it overtook her. She had trained her body to expel the intense feeling as soon as it arrived, and it was no exception now.

"No one carried me when I was six," Spot barked towering over his much shorter female companion. He adjusted the cap on his head, revealing the frozen eyes beneath. They were nearly grey in color and looked as though a blizzard were occurring within them. Brooklyn had the vision of a snow globe she'd seen in a store window once. She was mesmerized by this new personality Spot's eyes had taken on. They hadn't broken; she felt the failure deep within her. It took all of her energy to refocus her mind back to the meaningless fight she was engaged in. She wanted to scream, scold him for his ridiculousness, mock him for suggesting the answer was to instill the injustices he'd faced on the younger generation, upbraid him for not using his experience to create a better life for the young children of the street. The words escaped her, and with the adrenaline and rage leaking out of her blood, she lacked the energy for another screaming match with the King of Brooklyn.

"No one carried me, either" Was the only response that seemed to encompass all she needed to express. She had made her home on the streets as well, and without a lodging house to return to at the end of the day. Yet, she was able to retain the capacity for compassion, which she was born with. It didn't cause her to believe that every child should suffer the same unloved fate she had, when it was within her power to prevent it. She hadn't realized how close she'd gotten to him, until she lowered her eyes and stepped back into reality. She looked to her surroundings. The streets were full of people, all successful in ignoring the street rats engaged in battle. It occurred to her that these people would have regarded them as a couple of ill-bred creatures screaming in the street with no pride in themselves. She spotted Tiny only a few feet away, her eyes soft, as she lifted him back to his place on her hip.

She half-expected Spot to rip the child from her arms on principle. He lit a cigarette instead and seemingly ignored Brooklyn's insubordination for the time being. She had no doubts that he wouldn't allow her to escape the incident unscathed. With the small arms wrapped around her neck, it was impossible to be concerned over Spot's revenge tactics. She could think of nothing but the bundle in her arms. How long would he be able to retain any semblance of his innocence? At what point would his eyes turn to impenetrable stone, protecting the most vulnerable and valuable thing a person can own? The streets would abuse and bully him into growing up too fast, and into an emotionally crippled adult. Spot would make sure of it. Out of exhaustion, his small body leaned on Brooklyn for support. His neck muscles supported his head, drawing energy from pure stubbornness and pride. He could not allow himself to fall asleep. The transformation was already beginning.

She wondered how long it would have taken Runner to lose his boyishness. What the world had to offer him was bleak. His future was certain to be one plagued with pain, starvation and conflict. Without her permission, her mind questioned whether his death had saved him from something worse, if death wouldn't take them to a better place than they were residing in now. She wanted to punish herself for her own thoughts.

When he spoke, his voice was far away and breathy, as though it was an after thought. His sleep-deprived brain gave him courage to ask what he would ordinarily never speak aloud. Brooklyn couldn't help but wonder whether she'd somehow transferred her thoughts to his head. With their bodies so close, was it possible that their thoughts had become interconnected. Or, was it just that such a traumatic event was haunting everyone, and that it was only her self-centeredness that made her think she was the only one contemplating Runner's death multiple times a day.

"When's Runner coming back?" It took all of Brooklyn's concentration not to drop the child in her arms. She turned, unaware that her jaw had dropped dramatically, to face Spot. Her throat began making sounds, attempting to speak before her mind could process something to say. Her stomach was attempting to wrap itself into a ball to prevent the open wound that had consumed her on the night of Runner's death from reopening. Her heartbeat sped to an unbearable pulse, her mind racing to find the right words. The air around them became thick with anxiety and awkwardness. How could she possibly answer this question? Her first thought was to discover something to say that wouldn't break the small child's heart. These magical words escaped her and her eyes found Spot, relinquishing her claim on the question to him. Spot drew closer until she was staring up at him, her eyes pleading not to be too harsh on the young boy. His face was its same unchanging stone, except for the momentary widening of his eyes that Brooklyn had almost missed noticing. Tiny barely recognized the change in his environment. His arms were still hanging limply around Brooklyn's neck, as though he hadn't brought the uncomfortable situation on them all. His only thought was to wonder why the gentle rocking from Brooklyn's footsteps had ceased.

"Where do you think he went?" Spot asked, the softness in his voice unnerved Brooklyn more than his anger would have. Tiny raised his head up fully in order to meet Spot's eyes. His leader was so close to him it was frightening. He had never received this kind of undivided attention from Spot before.

"I don't know," He had been taught to tell the truth and that was the truth. He looked into his leader's face and it remained unchanged. Staring into his leader's eyes made him feel colder and he cuddled closer to Brooklyn for warmth. Tiny knew he was waiting for him to speak, he said the only truth he could come up with. "Brandy said that we'd see him again. When's he coming back?"

Understanding flashed through both the icy grey and viridian flames simultaneously. Brandy must have told the child that they'd 'see him again someday'. He must have assumed it would be comforting to the young child, not confusing. Unsure of what to say Brooklyn tightened her arms around Tiny in an instinctual effort to comfort him.

"Do you know what happened to Runner?" Spot asked, more for himself as his brain was trying to find a way to explain it, but the child answered. Interlocking his fingers through Brooklyn's hair as he spoke, his voice was unchanged as if he did not realize the weight of his words.

"Yeah, he went to die" He focused on Brooklyn's hair and lost himself in the patterns the different colors made. He might've said Runner had fallen asleep for all the understanding he had of death. Spot lifted the child out of her arms, his muscles flexing beneath the thin cloth of his shirt. The words flashed through Brooklyn's mind, not as they had been said in reality, but as they were said in a dream. 'He's dead, there's no use'. Guilt encompassed her being, and with Tiny out of her arms, she suddenly felt cold and alone in the summer heat.

Spot pulled his grey cap back unveiling his matching eyes. Tiny searched them desperately, attempting to calm his nerves. The ring of cerulean that he found just outside the black hole in the center, gave him tranquility that he'd only known from one other source. Remembering it, he reached toward his shoe for his precious knife, but Spot stopped him.

"When someone dies they can't come back, Tiny" The words were delivered with a softness Brooklyn knew she had heard before. It seemed so far away now, the night that she'd had nightmares of her own past. She'd forgotten the level of compassion Spot was capable of, maybe she wasn't supposed to remember. Apparently, no one had explained this to Tiny. He struggled beneath Spot's large hands and violently attempted to get his knife. He began breathing heavily, Spot turned his head, assuming his newsie was going to cry. Not a solitary tear trickled out of his tiny orbs; one thing he'd learned in his few months at the lodging house was that it was unacceptable to cry, especially in front of Spot.

"Where did he go?" His voice was shaking now; it was taking most of his strength not to let the tears fall. He looked from Spot to Brooklyn repeatedly, begging someone for the answer. Brooklyn bent down to Tiny's level and placed her hand on his shoulder. Her action had tag-teamed Spot out, and he rose turning his back to his newsies momentarily as he stroked the hair beneath his cap for control.

"I don't know" Brooklyn answered honestly, her hair falling about her face and shoulders chaotically. Her lips had no semblance of a smile, but this close to her; Tiny noticed small fragments broken off on her lips. The small boy tried to steady himself by focusing his mind on her face, but he could not forget Runner despite how hard he tried.

"But I want to talk to him" his voice was in hiccups now, crying without tears. His small face scrunched up using every muscle in it to keep the tears locked within his eyes. The thought that he could never see or talk to his friend again was startling and devastating to him. When you're young forever seems like such a long time. Brooklyn looked up at Spot; his hat was crushed within the grasp of his left hand. His face looked jaded, his stance defeated. She knew he felt helpless because he was unable to prevent this pain. She wanted to explode on him with the truth. She needed to tell him that he needed to move on from that, that what the newsies needed now was to be consoled, that this physical protection from harm was all he focused on and it wasn't nearly enough. The look on his face stopped her. To her he looked as broken as Tiny, and although the mask was better constructed, she could not tell him off while he harbored that look. He was without the answer, and Brooklyn turned away from him to respond to Tiny, trying to deal with one boy at a time.

"You can." She responded softly holding his shoulders steady to comfort him. "You can talk to him whenever you want, Tiny. You can talk to him aloud, or in your head. Whatever you want, but if it will make you feel better you should do it" She tried to say this as clearly as possible because it went for Spot too. Deserting his newsies emotionally was unacceptable for this length of time. Brooklyn felt it was necessary for him to find a way to function through his pain at this point. It wasn't fair. She didn't disagree on that, but as a leader, his first responsibility is to his newsies, not himself. As this pain destroyed him, the bond between the Brooklyn newsies was decaying.

Tiny's eyes were heavy with the emotional weight of the conversation he'd engaged in, and tears. They had welled to the brink of his eyelids and he was using every ounce of strength in his tired body to keep them in their place. For the first time she noticed the deep black circles that ran under his eyes. She'd never paid much attention to his sleeping habits but she wondered about them now. His lips had one more question in them before he gave up this line of questioning out of exhaustion.

"But he can't answer me" His eyes took in the floor as though it was a featherbed. He wanted sleep so desperately he had to focus his mind onto staying awake. He wanted the warmth of his bed where he could curl up under a blanket and feel completely safe. The pain began in Brooklyn's chest and expanded its outward, fighting for control of her entire body. She wished she had the answer to cease his pain and in turn her own, but no words could be found. She turned resting her weight on her heel, and from her green orbs, she sent him her pain. Everything she was feeling too strongly in that moment she released from her eyes. She had done all she could. The only thing she had left to offer the small boy was to wrap her arms around him and hold him close. She wanted to make him feel safe, and she no longer had the words to it. With her head atop his small one, the green flames danced sorrowfully, imploring Spot to help.

He let a deep sigh escape from his shapely lips. He ran his right hand through his hair as though stimulating the follicles would motivate his brain to produce an answer. He crossed the distance between them swiftly, never shying away from where his presence was needed. He placed his hand on Brooklyn's shoulder to suggest that she move away from the boy. The tag-team reversed their roles, and she stepped away again letting him take control. He knelt down in front of Tiny who raised his eyes to meet the cold ice again. He did not shiver this time, nor feel the same coldness he'd felt before. This time he felt that safeness he was longing for.

"I'm sure if he could answer you, he will, Tiny" Brooklyn could not believe how compassionate an answer he had been able to produce. If he wouldn't have crucified her for her condescension, she would have told him how proud she was. She wondered if he really believed that, or if he would have said anything to end the conversation. Either way she decided it was still a victory to be able to give hope to the child who carries a knife in his shoe. When he turned to look back at her, she smiled at him, in an effort to let him know she approved. He reflected this presentation of emotion onto Tiny, resulting in cheering the young boy from his despair. Brooklyn scolded herself silently for expecting any other response from her roommate. Spot Conlon didn't need anyone to approve the way he handled a situation with one of his newsies.

After delivering this shining beacon of hope to the young newsie, he rose from his position on the gravel. He returned his grey cap to its proper position atop his head, and once again pulled it low over his eyes. The rest of the walk back to the lodging house was silent between the three selling partners. Spot did not even protest when Brooklyn lifted Tiny back to her hip.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own the newsies or any characters you recognize from the movie, I do own characters you don't recognize from the movie.

Okay, so I said a couple of days, and actually it took a couple of weeks. I'm sorry, between moving out of my house and into an apartment, and transferring colleges I haven't had any time until today to finish this. Next update is coming soon as well as updates to the other stories which I have neglected for too long, and am really excited to take up again. Thank you to all who review, and yes RandomRiter you were the one who got me writing this story again =P Thank you, you're awesome. I am shocked that anyone remembered this story at all (Edwardsgoil you rock!).

Reviews make me happy =]

**Chapter 17**

Brooklyn had finally figured out the reason that it was so difficult for her to sell newspapers. At first, she had believed Spot when he'd said it was based on her skill level, but the truth slowly made itself more evident. It was the most obvious and simplest answer that the citizens of Brooklyn ignored her simply because she was a woman. More specifically, because she was a woman dressed in men's clothing. It did not occur to them that had they bought a paper from her she might actually be able to afford the decent skirt they insisted she wear.

She remembered the incident vividly, the sting of moisture on her neck as she continued her silent walk home, carrying Tiny in her arms. They'd probably assumed it was her child, adding to the social stigma they placed on her. She cursed herself for not turning around to see who'd spit at her, who she had offended so deeply by her wardrobe of circumstance. Unfortunately, the humiliation had kept her paralyzed. It wasn't until blocks had passed that she was able to raise her hand high enough to wipe the excrement off her neck.

It was her own fault, and she didn't try to push the blame onto others. She was completely aware that she offended the society she was currently trying to reside in. It had been easier when she was an invisible citizen of the streets. The hard pavement she used to sleep on didn't mind whether she dressed properly for her sex, and the assumed role society placed on it. She had chosen to join this society for money enough to feed herself. She had allowed herself to become so attached to the constant presence of others that abandoning the newsies for her old way of life was no longer an option. The consequences of these decisions lay entirely upon her own shoulders.

She slouched so those shoulders could be momentarily covered with water, arching her back so that her neck and face could find their way into the cool refreshing water. The droplets of water tickled her as they fell down her back when she returned to a sitting position. The bathtub had been calling to the cells of her body for weeks, and she was finally able to enjoy it. She had discovered a way to lock the door. She carried a chair from the table downstairs to the bathroom, and positioned it so that the knob would not turn enough for the door to open. True, it would not be difficult for someone with the least bit of strength to push the door open regardless, but she had faith that meeting the attempted lock door would deter Spot until she'd emerged from the room.

Across the room her single set of clothing hung, slumped over the arms of the chair that barricaded the door. The clothing remained wrinkled, the stains had resided in the fabric so long no amount of soap could coax them out, yet, the act of washing them made her feel cleaner. It would have sickened her to place clothing that had accumulated weeks of grime back onto her newly cleaned body. The water dripped neatly from the ends of the clothing into a growing puddle beneath them. It occurred to her that anyone who pushed the door open would send her clothes spiraling to the dirt-infested floor.

Luckily, for her those who entered Spot's bunkroom that afternoon had no interest in his private washroom. The first voice was immediately recognizable. Between selling and sharing a small room with him she would've recognized his arrogant voice without effort. Although she was certain she knew the second voice, it took much longer to place than Spot's obvious one. With Spot monopolizing her time, it had been much longer since she had heard other voices of the lodging house.

"What'd you have to tell me that was so important?" Spot asked, not even a hint of amusement in his voice. He anticipated bad news, and his voice weighed with the sheer volume of burdens he already owned.

"I saw Ace today." His companion responded, fear lining his voice, the emotion as obvious in his tone as in the look Brooklyn assumed must be across his face.

"What the fuck were you doing in Queens?" It was not a question, but an accusation. The threat of bodily harm should his companion not provide a suitable explanation clung to the words. They were crafted to inspire fear.

Brooklyn sat up straight, his voice evoking as strong a fear as if the words had been aimed at her. She silently begged the water to move silently as her body shifted. She sat perfectly still, praying to a God she barely believed would help her that the two did not notice her breathing. This was a conversation she was clearly not privileged to hear.

"I wasn't in Queens. Do you think I'm crazy? No, he was in Brooklyn?" This voice sounded submissive enough to prove his respect, but barely able to control his nerves. She was glad she wasn't forced to witness the danger gathering behind Spot's eyes.

"What the fuck was he doing in Brooklyn?" This time the question did not hold an accusing nature. It wasn't directed at his nark, but merely to the world around him. It was obvious to her that Spot did not expect an immediate answer. Training, however, had taught the newsies to answer any question their leader poses.

"I don't know" Brooklyn finally realized that it was Brandy who had delivered this massive insight to the situation.

"Where'd you see him?" He was a leader trying only to gather all the necessary information. There was a significant lack of emotion in his voice. If Brooklyn believed what she heard, she would have deduced he wasn't feeling anything. Once again, Brooklyn felt the sense of pity that Spot would never have accepted from her. It must be torturous for someone you trust to betray you.

"South, He was loading at the docks in Gravesend." That was farther than she generally traveled in a single day to make a profit. Even with three selling partners exhausting one spot, Gravesend was too far to wander and return to the lodging house before dark.

"I'll take care of it." She didn't doubt that he would, she only wondered exactly what his plan of action was going to be, or if it was going to take as long to execute as it did with Pace.

When the door slammed shut behind two sets of footsteps, she smiled at her good fortune. She hadn't created a plan for exiting the washroom had Spot stayed in his room alone. She would have been caught in the act of eavesdropping, meriting a set of consequences, she did not wish to face.

Relaxation was a luxury that most children of the street could not afford, and would never experience. Brooklyn did not take this time to herself lightly; she knew how long it could be before she would have this opportunity again. She justified her long break from reality by convincing herself it was just something to do until her clothes dried. Most of all she was enjoying Spot's absence. In the days since she'd scolded him for it, she had barely been able to steal a moment of time alone. Working and rooming with the same person takes a toll on even the best relationships, and when that roommate is Spot Conlon frustration is a constant emotion.

By the time the water had wrinkled her skin beyond recognition, Brooklyn was finally becoming uncomfortable underwater. Her clothes were not yet dry, so she dressed in Spot's extra set of clothing. She had not forgotten the altercation where he had flung her from the docks for the same offense. She couldn't prevent her lips from morphing into a smile at the thought of Spot's annoyance when he saw what she'd done. Her face fell when she remembered Spot's current mood. With his demeanor so dark, she hardly anticipated an amusing confrontation. She rolled her eyes as she re-entered reality deciding to change into her own clothes, dry or not, before Spot returned.

She did not expect hunger and exhaustion to overtake her small body the way they did. The growling in her stomach was suddenly so painful that she wanted to fill it with anything just to cease it. Had anyone else been in her presence she would have blushed from embarrassment at the sound. Unfortunately, she was no longer making enough of a profit for luxuries such as food to eat. She'd given Tiny the rest of the food she had saved, and spent her last pennies on lodging. She refused to be dependent on Spot. He'd paid for the roof over her head once, and she still placed her head in her hands out of humiliation at the memory. These were memories playing themselves uncontrollably across her mind when sleep finally found her, and she was relieved of the unbearable pain.

The room was so dark that she couldn't see the sheet that was smothering her. She threw it off thrashing about wildly to relieve herself of the heavy burden. Her head was too heavy to hold up, filled to the brim with the desire to continue sleeping. Her eyes were still closed; it physically hurt to open them. She wanted to roll over and continue in the bliss that she found from the warmth and silence of her bed. She couldn't go back to sleep until she knew what had made that sound. Common sense won over primal instinct and she forced her eyes open with what will she had. She could see no movement in the dark room, and after whipping her head around to discover the source of the noise she felt she had no energy left at all. She heard the footsteps though, and was unnerved by the presence in her room.

"What was that?" she asked into the darkness her words slurred by her still sleeping brain to the point where they were nearly unrecognizable. She licked her lips trying to moisten her uncomfortably dry mouth. Her hand was engaged in battle with her unruly hair, which was currently glued to her neck and shoulders by sweat.

The noise came again, a loud crash followed by the word 'fuck'. The voice that issued the obscenity relaxed her awakened nerves and allowed her head to fall back to the pillow where it was demanding to be returned. With the strain of holding her head up gone, her next words were more articulate.

"Get out of my room" her hand coaxed the hair off her neck lovingly as she lay comfortably on her pillow in the darkness. She didn't expect her order to be followed, she was merely wishing for that specific outcome.

"You get out of my room" He responded his words slurred nearly as bad as her sleepy ones had been. The all too familiar heat flowed through her body. She was so exhausted she wished the feeling away. She was not in the mood for another confrontation with Spot. After a few moments of lying motionless, the heat became so intense she had to release it.

"If you're going to come back in the middle of the night could you at lease be quiet? " Her tone was clearly angry. She was awake when all she desired in the world was to continue sleeping peacefully throughout the night, and she blamed him for current circumstance. Light suddenly illuminated his face, his hand guiding the match to the candle who's position he used to know by heart. This time however, he needed that match to help him search for it in the dark. The light in the room revealed the chair he had tripped over twice, laying on its side in the middle of the room. The fire from the candle fueled her heat, and she lost control of the emotion once again.

"I'm sleeping" She threw the words at him as if they were supposed to mean something. Immediately following her words, she leaned over the bed and blew out the candle. As she turned her back to him to resume her precious sleep, she heard him strike another match.

"What did you do rearrange my whole fucking room?" She assumed he was referring to the chair he'd tripped over, and the confused look that crossed his face when he lit the candle, and she offered her own explanation.

"I didn't touch anything, you're just drunk" The suggestion that this was obvious was released with her words, and although she returned to the bed as if the conversation were over she knew she'd succeeded in starting yet another battle between herself and the King of Brooklyn.

"Spot Conlon can handle his liquor," he informed her as if this were the most interesting piece of information she would ever hear. She rolled her pale emerald eyes at his words, and was disappointed that the location of the candle prevented him from witnessing this display of annoyance. As if reading her thoughts he removed the candle from its stationary place and carried it with him as he turned, searching the floor. Through his movement, she caught a glimpse of his face and smiled at her own cleverness.

"Spot Conlon can take a punch" She mocked him for the mixture of navy and violet that clearly covered his left cheekbone. He stood motionless; the knuckles of his candle-holding hand had turned white. He glared through the solid ice, before the smirk graced his lips. It looked strange to her, as she was growing used to its absence. Suddenly the ice was distant to her, as he had found the ability to mock her with his tranquility.

"I can throw a punch too" He bragged, his knuckles returning to their natural color. His calmness infuriated her. It was as though she were meeting him again for the first time. All the progress she had made attempting to crack that solid wall of ice were useless. The overwhelming desire to implant herself beneath his skin was intoxicating.

"You throw one at Ace?" Although the words formed a question, they were aimed at him as a weapon, crafted to cause destruction to their target. She watched intently as the cool indifference melted into a sharpened sapphire crystal. Although she was high from her own success, she was uncomfortable under this direct stare. She didn't want to appear to be squirming, so she rose from the bed and crossed the room, her movements purposeful. The crystal followed her, and fixed her under the same glare when the nerve to meet his eyes returned. She knew he was waiting for an explanation, and out of defiance, she refused to give him one until he asked.

"What do you know about Ace?" Anger coursed through her blood so hot she felt it could burn straight through her skin. She hadn't gotten past the impenetrable ice; she'd aroused his anger out of logic not emotion. He thought she was withholding information, a traitor to the Brooklyn newsies and himself. The desire to break through this defense was consuming her; it released itself through every pore. The sage flames danced violently, threatening to become deadly if ignored.

"I heard everything you and Brandy said. So, did you take care of it? Or did you just go off and get yourself drunk?" Her voice mocked his carelessness. The desire was so overwhelming she'd lost her sense of self-preservation and compassion. She'd released common sense and replaced it with the courage to say any words that would finally push their way into him.

"I do whatever I want" He pronounced each word slowly and delivered them through clenched teeth. He put the candle down slowly, clenching his fist tightly as though he were prepared to use it. The action heightened the adrenaline, and the flame became so powerful it was becoming painful for her to hold on to.

"You do whatever you want, and you don't care how it affects anyone else right?" She knew she was pushing him too far; it was exactly what she wanted. She no longer feared his anger; she craved it. She could taste the venom in her words as she spit them at him, hoping to cause permanent damage.

"You disappear for hours to get drunk, you don't care what happens to the newsies while you're gone. And when you are here, it's worse. You think you're keeping them safe with you're stupid rules?" The words were pouring out of her now, with no permission from her brain required. Her anger had given them a life of their own. With both fists clenched, Spot was closing the distance between them. For a moment, a fear of physical harm ignited in her heart. The nervousness was pumped throughout her body by a heart beating too quickly.

"Runner is dead. They don't know how to deal with that, and you won't let them feel anything. You think if you can make them tough enough nothing can hurt them. Wake up, Spot, that's bullshit" His hand was placed on the wall next to her head, and he was pushing the anger out into that wall. It was the only thing keeping him from physically displaying his anger on the girl before him.

Everything she'd said was true and she knew it. He thought he was such an enigma, that no one knew the death of Runner was destroying him internally. What he was trying to do was so obvious. He could admit that he cared about the newsies, but not enough that the death of one could hurt him. It was nothing deeper than a bruised ego at not being able to keep his newsies safe. He thought by ruling them with fear he could strengthen them enough to be immune to emotional pain. There were enough uncontrollable things in a life on the streets to fear, the newsies didn't need another. What they needed was a leader strong enough to get past the murder of one of his own, and prove to them that there was a reason to continue living, instead of giving up.

"You think they'll be better off? If they learn to be tough and to never need anyone then they'll never get hurt, right? Don't get attached to anybody or anything so you don't miss it when it's gone. How's that been working for you? You are destroying yourself and you're destroying them. You live in fear, Spot, in fear of being close to anybody. You're nothing but a coward." His fist connected powerfully with the wall next to her head. Brooklyn jumped at the outburst of violence. It unnerved her to think that he was imagining her face on the wall he'd hit. With the anger now released from her body, she felt nothing but fear of the boy standing in front of her. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and the unpredictable anger of Spot as possible. She pushed her body hard against the wall, attempting to sink into it and become unnoticeable. He wouldn't allow it. He grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him in an effort to deny her of what she wanted. Her muscle was crushed beneath his hand, her arm cramping from the force of his grip. With her adrenaline levels rising quickly to distract her from the pain, she found a new courage.

"What are you gonna do, hit me?" She asked, daring him to do just that. The cerulean ice was fatally sharp. He stabbed her with them, aiming past her defense of green flames and pushing farther inside her attempting to find a softness that he could destroy. She felt the ice daggers insert the chill into her body; she wanted nothing more but to look away, and rid herself of this coldness. It was impossible to escape from this glare, and she felt it penetrate deeper into her soul until she felt it in the wound the Runner's death had created. Her stomach felt as though it had been ripped open, and acid was slowly destroying the inside of her body. Brooklyn had brought this upon herself; she had succeeded in placing herself behind that defensive wall. He was doing this to remove her from beneath his skin.

Through her eyes, she pleaded with him to release her from this internal pain. She tried to back away into the safety of the wall behind her. Again, he jerked her small body forward using only a fraction of the force he was capable of. Her eyes burned with hot liquid, begging him for mercy. She had certainly evoked an emotion from him, the anger that owned his body was so pure and intense it was impossible to bury it. His only option was to release it quickly before it destroyed him. His eyes were not releasing enough of it fast enough. She knew he wanted to hit her, she expected him to give in and physically release the emotion she'd caused him back onto her. She could hear her own heartbeat beneath her skull. Her heart felt as though it was paralyzed with fear when he raised his free hand. She heard the noise behind her as he slammed it again into the wall. He was so close to her now, she could feel his hot breath smothering her. It was all she was breathing in.

Without warning, his lips were on hers, moving roughly in order to release the adrenaline from his body. It was meant to be harsh and bruising, hurting her in the only way he could. She wrapped an arm behind his neck and pulled him closer to her. She pushed her lips so close to his she could feel his teeth behind them as he moved. He removed his hand from the wall and snaked it around her waist holding her tightly between his arms and chest. He flexed his muscles, crushing her so tightly against his body that she was unable to reach her other arm up to his neck. She gripped his shirt with her fingers, holding onto it tightly trying to regain some semblance of control.

Her mind was becoming useless to her. Somewhere deep within her brain the thought to stop him had formed, and was fighting its way to the forefront. Every time she attempted to make sense of this, the movement of his lips against, hers was too distracting, until she no longer wanted to make sense of it. She didn't care why he was doing it or what it was going to mean to her, she only wished it wouldn't stop. If tomorrow's awkwardness would never come, she could be eternally happy. In this one moment, she knew there was nothing to consider, nothing they needed to discuss. Later she would have to try to understand this, to try to guess what he was thinking about it. Right now, however, she didn't have to think about anything more than the feeling of euphoria coursing through her body.

His arms drew her in closer to him and he lifted her feet of the ground. He cradled her head in his hand as he fell hard on top of her, her back sinking into the mattress beneath her. His body was so heavy she could barely breathe. His arms tightened around her back until she was unable to even move her neck. He was crushing her into the mattress beneath her, his arms the only support she had. The thoughts in her mind were screaming to be acknowledged. Her brain begged her to stop this before it went too far, and scolded her for allowing this to happen. She was not a prostitute, if not even the necessity of food and shelter had forced her to use her femininity to earn her money, then she was not going to fail now. Not when it would mean that smirk permanently painted across his face, whispering from all the boys she had to live with, awkwardness every time she saw him. She had already given him enough ammunition to be a constant source of embarrassment. Her mind had decided for her that she had to stop it, but her body was begging for just one instant more. If she could only freeze, time and stay in this moment where these thoughts didn't need to exist. Finally, when her mind could take it no more, and it demanded her to act, she pushed hard against his chest so there'd be no mistaking her meaning. Their lips broke.

"What? " He asked her, waiting for a response she would not give. He remained above her; the intensity in his eyes had dimmed. The grey cerulean had contorted itself into a look of confusion. The flame had been extinguished, her jade eyes remained as they had been before, pleading for release. His eyes remained attached to hers, navigating their way past her defense and through her once again. This time they were not meant to cause her pain, they were searching. She did not have time to build her defenses back up to prevent him from searching through her freely. She did not know what he was looking for or whether she wanted him to find it. There was no time to mask her emotions or show him what she wanted him to see. She was defeated, in her eyes there was nothing but truth.

When he finally reacted, it was to brush the hair back from her cheek before rolling off her onto his back. With his arm still beneath her, he pulled her close to him. She rolled onto her side, resting her head on his chest comfortably. He allowed his arm to remain across her shoulders protectively. She could feel the muscle beneath the light fabric of his shirt against her back. A feeling of security and warmth blanketed her, erasing any desire she had for future movement. Her fingers traced the buttons on his shirt, feeling the hard chest beneath them. Once again she was shocked at the compassion Spot was capable of. She was unaware of the process that had brought her from screaming to lying here peacefully, and she was uninterested in it. She knew he was initially using her as a portal to release his overabundance of anger through. It would be far too difficult to try to understand the motivation for this gentle action. Contemplating the reasoning behind Spot's actions was exhausting to her. She no longer cared why; she only desired to remain in this position for as long as it lasted. Brooklyn was consumed by a feeling she had always longed for, one that is the desire of every street child who were deprived a loving home. From Spot's capable arms, he transmitted a feeling of safety that wrapped itself entirely around her. It suffocated her until she could no longer remember how she'd ever functioned without the knowledge that she was completely safe.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own the newsies or any characters from the newsies; I only own characters which you don't recognize from the movie.

Hi everyone!

Once again thank you so much to all those who read this & another thanks to those who review. I appreciate it and it inspires me to buckle down and continue writing even when I'm frustrated and want to give up. I have good news! (well good news for me). Someone nominated this story for a New York Newsie Award! I would like to thank whoever nominated it because it really wasn't me which means people think this story is good! I can't tell you how touched I was that someone thought this story was good enough to be nominated for an award.

If you'd like to vote for the story that would be absolutely amazing it won't let me post the link so the website is wix .com /newsies/nyna (theres no space between wix and .com when you type it in...it just wouldnt let me post it without the space in this document) and just click on Winter Awards(left), and then Vote (on the left side of the screen) and it's the third one under Best Spot Story. Voting is only open until April, 20th. Thank you!

And in closing I would like to beg for reviews as always. I love you all & I hope you enjoy it.

-Sirenn

**Heart of Brooklyn**

_Chapter 18_

The intense heat was suffocating her. As Brooklyn slowly pried her eyelashes apart, and allowed her brain to recharge, she felt the hair matted to the back of her neck by sweat. While her head comfortably rested on the pillow, beneath her neck was something hard and solid. She attempted to roll onto her back, but her shoulder was stopped by Spot Conlon's chest. The events of the previous night flooded into her brain as though she were a third party observing the interaction. She was cocooned between his well-defined arms and the blanket, and barely had enough air surrounding her to breathe. It was impossible for her to move without disturbing him, yet she could not allow herself to sink back into that intoxicating feeling of safety and warmth that she had basked in the night before. The morning light can discourage feelings that may have been entertained only hours before. Somewhere within her underfed stomach was the fear and certainty that the day before her was going to be full of awkwardness.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of lying in Spot's arms trying to keep intense emotion at bay, he awoke stretching around her as though memories of the previous night did not plague him. She rose, determined to be the first one into their private washroom, and could not contain a look of shock as Spot pulled her back down on the bed. Immediately she assumed that the gesture was done to keep her in bed with him, although instead of pulling her down to lay with him, Spot matched her sitting position.

"I hope you don't think because of last night you can wear my clothes." His voice held grogginess from being used mere moments after waking up, but Brooklyn could detect no malice in his words. He then leaned across the bed, supporting his body weight on a single hand, and momentarily rested his lips on Brooklyn's forehead before dragging himself to the washroom.

For the first time since their acquaintance Brooklyn was speechless. Although she knew the remark should have made her angry, the gesture that followed it complicated the emotion. She did not have a response for either of these greetings, as she'd expected Spot to ignore her as he did most mornings. Silently, she entered the washroom when he cleared it for her. She was unable to determine Spot's mood or thoughts, and was unsure in which direction she wanted to lead the situation.

"Brooklyn, could you possibly move any slower?" He called through the door. Blushing immediately, she hadn't realized how much time was passing as she attempted to create an opinion about her actions. After nearly apologizing for her lateness, she noticed how ridiculous that sounded coming from her own lips. She knew the worst crime she could commit would be to take this situation too seriously.

"Anything for you, Spot" She called back, and proceeded to take her time in preparing for the day. She smiled in victory as she heard his agitated sighs float through the doorway. She did change back into her own clothes, but the mere act of it made her repulsed at his words. It wasn't what he'd actually spoken, but what they implied. As though she'd be so stupid as to think their actions last night changed anything, meant anything. He was telling her not to take it too seriously, and although she was convinced she was unaffected, she realized she hadn't thought of anything else all morning.

"If you don't hurry, we're not going to have enough time" The tone of his voice implied that she knew what he was referring to. She racked her brain, trying to recall something she'd never been informed of.

"Where are we going?" She wasn't about to speed up the readying process if this was false hope designed to motivate to move faster.

"Race track" Brooklyn could not decide whether to be satisfied that he'd answered her question at all, or irritated that he had purposely left out any and all details.

"Really?" She had decided to deny him pleasure in keeping the information from her. "I would have thought you'd want to go to Gravesend" She smiled at her own cleverness, and was unable to resist ceasing her stalling tactics and exiting the washroom to witness the annoyance cross his face. She was met with the smirk whose absence she had nearly missed.

"We're going to the Gravesend race track" Spot informed her mockingly. This morning Spot seemed in lighter spirits, at least the smirk had returned to his lips, and he was able to take pleasure in the mockery she'd been excused from lately. His eyes were still icy grey in color, and Brooklyn wasn't about to believe that the unbridled anger that had possessed Spot for weeks had vanished.

"What are you gonna do?" She asked her voice and features taking on a matching demeanor of seriousness. She wanted to understand what he was thinking, and be informed of whatever plan was forming in his mind. She worried that he was not in the right state for an altercation with Ace. It made her uncomfortable to think of him fulfilling any of his threats to commit murder, and she wanted to be able to talk him down from such rash action.

"Can we go before it gets dark?" He asked, showing no sign that he ever planned on acknowledging her question. She rolled her eyes and walked beneath his arm, as he held the door open for her.

Despite the blistering heat of the sun, not a seat at the race track was empty. The men wore dark suits with chains from pocket watches falling on their chest. The elders pulled out chained looking glasses to seem more intelligent in polite conversation. The wealthy had private booths where they lunched with their elegantly clothed women. How beautiful the women were! Their festively colored silks and satins freshly pressed, and fitted to inspire a second glance. Their white dimpled skin was protected with parasols that they twirled about them flirtatiously. The fashionable hats that shadowed their delicate faces were adorned with flowers and ribbons, leaving a lovely smell with those they walked passed. The well-dressed gamblers stood outlining the closest ring to the dirt-covered race track, smacking newspapers with the back of their hands, and arguing over odds and profit margins. They would never possess the ink-stained hands that came from constant handling of those papers, and they could never recall the smudged face of the child who'd sold it to them.

Floating among these aristocrats, out for an enjoyable recess from their repetitive routines, were scattered children who'd never known boredom. Their clothes were ripped, patched with mis-matching fabric, and stained far beyond recognition of their original color. Most had nothing beneath their feet but the rock and dirt that lay upon the earth. Their faces were thin and bronzed from the sun's harmful ray. Dark circles found a permanent home beneath their well-trained eyes, and they shouted over the monotonous chatter of the upper class for customers.

Brooklyn ran her fingers through her dry, rough hair and felt an anger grow within her that no matter how many cold baths she took at the lodging house she'd never be soft and clean like the sweet-smelling girls who walked by her. She comforted herself with the thought that these women were dressed for a ball, and she was more properly clothed for the dirt that was kicked up by the horses. She coughed, fighting for air as the dust left behind by half a dozen horses found its way inside her throat. It was exhilarating being so close to animals of that size. The sight of their large muscles flexing beneath tightly drawn skin fascinated her, they were more elegant than any of the creatures in the stands. The horses knew they were on display, she imagined them basking in their own fame and attention. Mesmerized by this spectacle, she thought of Racetrack Higgins, and no longer condemned him for the time and money he wasted in a place just like this.

She turned her head to block the dust from her eyes and throat as the horses made their second round. Spot was a few feet from her, holding Tiny above the railing so he would be included in this experience. She thought of how happy it must've made Tiny to be held up by his admired leader. The papers sold quickly, every member of the audience craved entertainment between races, and it was the perfect distraction for only a penny. She was thankful that Spot had convinced her to buy more papers than usual, she had sold every last one and now had an entire dollar to her name.

"What do you think?" She felt his hot breath surround her ear, and the tickling sensation ignited a flight response that was halted by his hand on her waist. She sank into the embrace, although refusing to acknowledge his presence with her eyes.

"I think the black one's gonna win" She responded without averting her orbs from the captivating creature that consumed her line of vision. The onyx skin clung to the rebellious muscles beneath them. With each movement the strong muscle threatened to break free, and each attempt was displayed by the flexible slate-colored covering. He bucked repeatedly, his long mane tumbling about him as though attempting to detach from the uncontainable beast. His manner suggested he was desperate to be free, a goal that any product of the streets can identify with.

"And if he does?" Spot released his breath into the same ear, his face so close she could feel his nose brush against her. Involuntarily her shoulder moved to press itself against her ear to release it from the torture of being tickled. His words were used as a challenge. Although she had no desire to enter into another bet against him, she knew that the weakness of refusal would be worse than losing. Attempting to use the situation to further her own ambitions, she searched her scattered mind for what she wished to gain.

"I come with you and everyone else to see Ace" She was finally able to establish eye contact with him, turning in order to witness his reaction. She braved the unsettled grey frost of his irises, searching for an answer. He'd mentioned nothing of his plans to confront Ace, and she expected his mind to be conflicted over whether she knew or was guessing. Common sense had led to the conclusion that the altercation would take place, and history had taught her that she'd be left out. He released her and leaned into the railing, redirecting his focus to the animals lining up to be used. As the race started, clouds consisting of dust and dirt rose from the beaten ground and permeated through the air surrounding it. The sound of determined hooves against the earth consumed the audience. Spot finally seemed to make a decision.

"If he doesn't, you take Tiny back to the lodging house and stay there" The whisper snuck beneath the obvious pounding of galloping horses delivered only for her ears. She could not stop her lips from distorting themselves into a victorious smirk as the dark horse crossed the finish line securing a victory for them both.

It was not every newsie's privilege to bear witness to the confrontation between their leader and his former second in command. A small portion hadn't been invited to the racetrack to begin with, and certain members of the crowd were designated the responsibility of escorting the younger children back to the lodging house. However, a large majority of the Brooklyn newsies was going to be present, and Brooklyn felt it would have been agony to be excluded.

The parade of newsies marched through the streets of Brooklyn, the promise of justice and revenge hovered over them. The sun was still high, it had been Spot's genius idea to begin the day at the racetrack, allowing the newsies to sell more than enough papers in half the time. There was plenty of daylight left to carry out the second half of their Gravesend mission. The rambunctious lot did not allow the seriousness of their task to permeate through their ranks. The boys were rowdy and loud, fighting, spitting and smoking the entire journey. With its overpowering heat the sun attempted to subdue this energy, aiming to turn them into docile, respectable creatures.

Brooklyn walked in step with their leader at the head of this gang of miscreants. He held a cigarette between his index and middle finger, and focused his attention on the white clouds floating out of his mouth. His gait was strong and confident, his shoulders squared, his muscles prepared for battle. His arm was draped around Brooklyn's shoulders, refusing to release her despite her discomfort from the disapproving stares of her fellow newsies. He projected a laidback image, while his alert eyes were intense with the paralyzing frost.

The loading dock was scattered with cumbersome boxes and broad shouldered boys whose muscles had been enlarged by this physical labor. They exuded both strength and anger from their position in society and looked menacingly at the gang of children invading their space. The sling-shot wielding newsies did not waste time making their presence known; they climbed boxes, leaned against dock poles, and remained unnerved by their enemy's larger size. The dock workers were outnumbered, something the newsies' leader had plotted, and therefore, when no immediate threat to themselves was seen they continued with their work, pretending they were not surrounded. Spot scanned the crowd of men working for their measly paycheck, his eyes trained to rest on the face he recognized.

Ace's appearance had changed, his skin looked ragged and coarse, a mixture of brown and pink, discolored by the sun's harmful rays. His chest and muscles had defined and expanded from his new occupation. Sharp lines dug into his once youthful skin, and made their permanent home around his eyes. The eyes had morphed the most, hardened beyond the goal of appearing tough. They had hardened out of the necessity to recognize no emotion from within. They remained stagnant even as Spot harshly called to him and sauntered toward the man who had once been his confidant. Only the recognition of his previous leader could be found across his features, if any emotions were brewing beneath the surface they did not register.

"What are you doing in Gravesend, Spot?" His tone was cocky, no manifestation of surprise colored his features. If he was surprised he was masterful at concealing it. With Ace's arrogance spiking Spot's adrenaline he did not contemplate the lack of shock in his enemy. The thought of this altercation had polluted Spot's thoughts completely since he'd learned of Ace's presence in Gravesend. If Ace was going to take up residency in Brooklyn after Spot's threats he should be expecting Spot's presence immediately.

The Brooklyn newsies unconsciously inched toward their old friend. His arrogant and disrespectful behavior toward their leader ignited the adrenaline in all of them. Their features contorted into a depiction of rage as though acting as one common being. Muscles flexed, and eyes narrowed as they threateningly edged closer to Ace. Spot watched the anger simultaneously consume his minions, the emotion proving their loyalty to him. He finally reacted, raising his eyebrows at the tone his former newsie addressed him in, and advanced upon his adversary prepared for battle.

"I think you can figure it out" He responded referring to the threats that had been made at Ace's exile from Brooklyn. The ice had been built to impenetrable proportions as he attempted to destroy his old friend by inserting the frost through his orbs. The visual power struggle was short lived, as Spot's statement was supplemented by the closed fist that collided with Ace's stomach when it was spoken.

With his first punch Spot had been able to obtain the moment of surprise he had expected from Ace upon arrival. Ace did not remain in shock long, returning Spot's blows with escalating force. Despite this advantage, Spot was disadvantaged in size from the physical growth of his adversary. The fight continued in intensity, increasing the damage with every blow. It was natural for Spot to separate the physical action of the body from the pain it was currently consumed by. Without realizing its advantage he was able to ignore the pain of his nose shattering, his brain not having time to recognize that when the adrenaline drained from his bloodstream the pain would overtake him. It was a lucky injury, his cleverness found a way to use it to his advantage by smearing the blood it produced into his opponents eye when he was trapped beneath Ace's body weight and the dock's below.

As Spot regained dominance from this action he sent all his anger into Ace's jaw through his knuckles. The feeling of bone giving way beneath the force of his blow left him feeling an intoxicating satisfaction he would not let go of. His own blood smeared across Ace's left eye dripped, mingling with the blood from Ace's injuries until the two were indistinguishable. His knuckles had gone numb rather than acknowledge the pain the action of cracking another's bone left them in. Mercilessly he delivered pain and suffering to his once closest companion. The blows from Ace were becoming fewer and farther between, the majority of the pain Spot endured was from the recoil of his own attack.

There was no way to end it now, they would continue, every blow they received must be returned, the vicious cycle would never cease. Anger soared through Spot allowing him new strength, the aggression at the world that had discarded him needed to be released. The adrenaline brought on a new pain; the muscles from constant extension were begging to be freed from their duty. It would not end until one of them was dead.

The dock workers stood unmoved by the fact that two sentences had spurned a bloody battle at their job site. Fights were familiar to them, as they too were victims of the harsh streets with anger that needed to be expelled from their bodies physically. Most of them never had the sense of family that the newsies were privileged with. They were better hardened against the sights before them than the other spectators they stood with. The Brooklyn newsies who had known Ace and remembered his friendship were caught between feelings of loyalty to their leader and regret over Ace's certain fate. They both accepted and resented the fact that Ace must suffer for his insubordination, understanding that his well-being was a threat to them personally. Externally they supported Spot as sincerely as they could seem, fearful that any sympathy for Ace would result in a similar fate for themselves. The newsies were doubled over in order to see every aspect of the fight, cheering for Spot as loudly as they could to profess their loyalty to him. Internally, the conflict between right and wrong raged as heatedly as the physical exertion they were witnessing.

The Sun's rays burned hot, allowing the sweat to increase the anxiety the newsies already felt consume them. It heated the blood within them to a boil as the cheers got louder, and the boys inched closer to release the exaggerated emotion bubbling beneath their skin. The heat increased the smell of blood and sweat, adding to their frustration the fact that they could not escape the smell. Brooklyn was aware that what she was witnessing should be upsetting; two boys who should be combining their powers to better their situations were brutally beating the anger of their existence onto someone they once trusted. Through the smell of blood stained sweat, sound of bone cracking beneath heavy force, and the sight of disfiguration she was once again forced to recognize the graceful movements of her leader. With ease he accepted the blows bestowed upon him, seemingly without any pain. Agility and excessive force were his rewards for a life spend struggling for mere survival. Brooklyn's nerves were rapidly expelling their extra energy, allowing the fear to permeate through her body. It would be ludicrous to doubt Spot's intention on fulfilling his previous threats. She attempted to calm her pulsing heart, but it would not be comforted. The unchecked nervousness was allowed the freedom to overtake her body. She felt as though at any moment her heart would cease to beat from its rapid pace. The energy piled up within her, she had to move, scream, fight, cry, anything to release her body from the pain.

The knife had found its way into his ready and capable hand, the sunlight purposely announced its presence doing all it could to warn the others of its arrival. The knife was held to Ace's throat by a hand shaking from rage and the desire of satisfaction. He could mimic the feeling already, beginning deep within him and consuming his whole body with relief. The tranquility would return to his internal world, reveling in his own victory. Every cell in his body craved the satisfaction that he taunted before it, knowing only the prospect of the feeling but not its actuality. His body begged for the action to be taken, the sunshine danced on the knife playfully enjoying the suspense it was able to create. A single feminine voice shattered the intensive bubble surrounding the two. As he turned to find its origin she came into focus, his brain finally communicating with his orbs. He returned to the reality of the scene before him, the high of bloodlust shattered and only the truth before him to intake. Ace lay beneath him, a sea of blood flooded from his disfigured nose and gaping mouth. Blood bubbled to the surface of his lips and spilled running itself down his neck and cheeks. His lips involuntarily opened and closed attempting to fill his lungs with air. His eyes remained closed as his head bobbled from left to right unable to exert control over his body. Killing this defenseless being was no victory worth having and with great difficulty Spot began to lower his weapon.

The knife was returned without crimson stains, as the victory was undeniably his own. With the bloodlust retreating, the adrenaline followed leaving his body in a sense of pain and unnerving tranquility from the realization that it was over. His eyes scanned the silent crowd skillfully as he rose with some difficulty, hardy trusting the legs beneath him not give out. The adrenaline was disappearing rapidly from him and his breathing although slowing was heavy from exhaustion. With one arm scraping the blood from beneath his nose, and his right leg producing painful sensations he sauntered toward his goal, the smirk placed rightfully upon his bloodstained lips. He was high from victory, his brain flooded by guilt and shock over what he'd nearly committed, and how badly he'd desired it.

He could not be a murderer. The savior and the villain could not both exist within the boy who slept above Brooklyn each night. She would not accept that he would instill the same injustice dealt to Runner onto another being. He moved toward her slowly, the pain he was bearing was obvious to her. His once fine features were discolored and swollen; blood remained on his clothing and face despite how he tried to remove it. He wrapped his arms around her, suffocating her with his bloodstained shirt. She did not notice the hot tears on her cheeks until they were pressed into her skin by the fabric that smothered her. All remaining adrenaline was released through the flexing of his arms around her. Her body was crushed against him so tightly she had barely enough room for chest to expand for air. There was no time for his actions to confuse her, no doubtful thoughts and pride protecting defenses. The extreme adrenaline and nerves had wreaked havoc on their emotions, the result more powerful than alcohol at lowering inhibitions. They had no ability to care what those who surrounded them were thinking, or what the consequences of their actions would be. They merely held onto each other, attempting to assemble some sense of control over their heightened pulse and emotions. The safety and security that the embrace provided them with was more intoxicating than any previous feeling, and they refused to lose it.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own the newsies or any characters from the newsies; I only own characters which you don't recognize from the movie.

A/N: It took almost four years, but it's finished. It's finally finished. It feels like such a huge accomplishment, for so long I didn't believe it would be ever be done. I apologize to everyone who read this story and had to wait four years for an ending. If you've reached this point in the story then I would like to thank you for reading. The greatest thing any writer can have is readers. I hope I didn't disappoint you.

And in conclusion, as always, I beg you to please review

_Chapter 19 - The End_

Awkwardness billowed in the air surrounding them, manifesting itself first in the shared glances and downward cast eyes of the Brooklyn newsies. The outside world didn't approve of this public display. The streets of Brooklyn had never taught its pedestrians to rely on others for strength. Brooklyn scoffed at these two physically holding onto each other as though their entire world would crumble around them if they loosened their grip. They were a disappointment to their borough, making a mockery of all it meant to be Brooklyn born and bred. The cement below them raged with betrayal and cursed the boy it had allowed to rise to leadership.

The adrenaline still swarmed through the newsies from the masculine display they had just witnessed. Ace's body still remained bleeding from his open wounds. The life poured from his opened veins darkening the rotted wood of the dock, and dripping between its segments into the cool water beneath them. Neither the newsies nor the dockworkers moved to help him. The laborers had continued working, coldly deciding that this was not their mess to clean. The newsies were too preoccupied with trying to avoid staring directly at their leader to pay any attention to the barely alive boy roasting beneath the unwavering sunlight.

Spot and Brooklyn had to be stopped. They were traitors to their home and a disgrace to the reputation it earned. A savior was needed to right the universe, a boy as unfeeling, and hard as the streets themselves. The boy that Spot was supposed to be. He made his presence known, climbing the columns of boxes to tower over the Brooklyn newsies below him.

"You didn't think you'd won, did you?" He called, his wit dulled by the increased adrenaline in him. He wished for cleverness as well as power, but was denied one with the prospect of being so close to the other. Although disappointed with the words that escaped from his lips, he was satisfied with the current physical state of his adversary. The plan was working.

Spot finally removed his face from Brooklyn's neck, his eyes widening and mouth hanging agape as he recognized the sight before him. It was the facial expression he had expected to receive from Ace upon his arrival, and he now understood that it had not been Ace's good training as a newsie that had prevented surprise from taking control of his features.

Pace stood above a stack of uncoordinated boxes, an army of ragged, hungry children standing behind him anger brimming in their eyes. They had slingshots, pipes, and garbage as their weapons, their clothes tattered from the weather they were forced to endure. Their strength was fueled by the anger their unsatisfying lives caused. They were children of those same cold streets and they stood facing Spot as an enemy. The hatred they felt at circumstances beyond their control had been collected and directed at a boy who was no better off than themselves. They did not combine against the harsh rule of the aristocracy and fight against the injustice of society. They had come to destroy each other in a hope to prove themselves the best of the worst off.

"Ace was only bait" He murmured, the broken skin of his lips cracking and causing him immense pain. The girl in his arms felt a renewed energy in her nerves. The feeling encompassed her entire body as she searched in her companion's eyes for something that could restore the security she had just felt. Being in his arms was giving her no sense of comfort. Only the most intense fear that can only be caused by the prospect of immediate physical danger was left. And the energy it took to support such a strong feeling was draining her frayed and worn body.

A silence had fallen over the entire dock as both sets of boys waited for an order they were sure would come. His four words traveled through the silence carried up to his adversary by air thick with the stench of bloodshed.

"Brooklyn belongs to me" His voice was thick with pride; the words were crafted to be a threat even in his physically weakened state. As his adrenaline restarted, the pain that coursed through his body was put at a distance. His brain was blocked from feeling the full effect of his altercation with Ace. For a moment the girl in his arms forgot herself and searing hot blood colored her cheeks as she pressed them further into his chest. He was not referring to her, she was aware of that as soon as her sage orbs met his. They were crystallized; the bright cerulean had been reduced to a mere tint of color. The ice surrounded his pupils, the coldness threatened death onto his enemies.

"Because you stole it from me!" An outraged cry fell from the mountain of boxes onto the ears of newsboys prepared to die to protect their wounded leader. His lips trembled and fists clenched, the veins in his neck and arms protruded showing themselves to inspire fear. His momentary lack of control was sickening, and he focused his grey orbs on the ground beneath him as he recovered his cool demeanor. "And now I'm taking it back" a smile began to spread across his lips, as he stood perfectly still above the chaos, waiting for the moment he was ready to become a part of it.

Marbles were the first thing that Brooklyn could understand to be happening. Ornately colored balls of glass were raining down upon them taking vengeance for the years they had been mistreated. They flew around her, welting coarse skin, entrenching themselves into eye sockets, drawing blood from broken teeth, leaving no remorse in their wake. She was aware that the pain she felt was caused by marbles, but she could not see or escape from them.

Brooklyn could not remember the moment Spot released her, she only knew that he had gone and she could not see where. She could see nothing but a sea of limbs viciously aiming themselves at one another. The dock workers stood on the outside of this commotion, refusing to get involved in a battle that was not their own. Not one of them moved to stop the feuding children; no officers were called to save these boys, by doing nothing they helped the war rage on.

Brooklyn was dizzy and could see no sight outside the violence; desperately she attempted to find Spot. The only view that she had was of the shoulder pressed against her face. She landed hard against the unforgiving wood below, and gasped for the air that had been knocked from her small frame. She inhaled hard for the heated air to fill her lungs, but the mass above her would not let her breathe. He crushed her chest as the battle that pushed him onto her did not cease. She pushed and struggled against his back, trying to make him aware of the presence beneath him before she suffocated. Fear of immediate death gave her strength and she reached for anything to help her. The broken bottle she found in her grip was a life float, and she stabbed and twisted it into the body above her. Warm blood poured over her skin and clothes, but she did not notice as the relief at air filling her lungs seared through her body. Shouts of "yea Brooklyn" could be heard from those who had witnessed it. She was high on her own power, refusing to set the bottle down, and thrusting it into those who stood in her way to finding Spot.

The crowd thrust back and forth, impossible to escape once trapped inside this mob of violence. The smell of blood and sweat was unavoidable, as was constant pain. These boys were brothers of the same fate, and they took their anger out on one another with a closed fist. There was nothing more important than returning the pain they had endured exponentially. The American dream is to claw one's way to the top and the dead weight that slows one's progress must be kicked down. The only piece of the country they would ever presume to own were the territories they took by force. These children risked their lives to claim they owned a street.

The blood baked into her clothing, preparing itself for a permanent home in the folds of fabric that clung to her body beneath the scorching sun. It was impossible to recognize the sweat and blood that covered her own body while trapped inside the mob on the dock. The crowd was tightening; she wedged herself between broad shoulders and forearms covered in open wounds, propelling herself forward. The bottle had become useless and her forward motion waned as it became near impossible to slip her small frame between the boys. She could not see her destination but continued to squeeze her way deeper into the throng of boys, convinced that this tightening could mean only one thing.

She was right. At first she was still blinded by the mob she had emerged from, her sight consisted only of swinging limbs, and spattered blood that seemed to belong collectively to all of them. The boys were unidentifiable; the differences between them were lost in the sea of blood, limbs, screams and marbles. Every fight within this war could not be distinguished from the next, it was becoming more difficult to separate friend from enemy. Each boy fighting as if the battle he was engaged in was the defining moment in his life, yet the flying fists, spilled blood, and stifled screams all blended together until the individuals were lost. All except one.

The herd tightened around their leaders, watching intently to the progression of violence before them. All had been too wrapped up in their own selfish display of masculinity to notice when the two had begun this dance. The grace he possessed in his movements separated him from the others; even in his weakened state his charisma remained unharmed. He was bleeding from wounds that had not begun to heal, but his face was held together with pride. He did not whimper or falter, refusing to allow his enemy to know his plan had been a successful one. With each blow he received his followers could not tell the pain it caused. He was a hero to them all.

His muscles screamed to neutralize the battery acid that pumped through them. Fire coursed through his veins bringing him the little adrenaline that was left in its body. His blood tried to desperately to supply him with the sustenance he needed to continue, but it found its way instead into the cold, harsh view of reality. Bright red, it entered the sunlit world and came face to face with the realization that it's master was losing life with every step. He was functioning on sheer determination; his body had no fuel left to enable him with. The punches he threw were fewer and farther between. He was no longer aware of the blows he was receiving, only the pain that followed him no matter which direction he turned trying to release himself from it.

Nerves closed in tightly around her stomach, spiraling themselves deeper inside her trying to protect themselves from the sights before her. Once registered, her frayed mind could not focus on anything else. He would lose. This she knew for certain with one look at his disfigured face. He did not seem to notice that his bones were broken, and leaking the life from him. She watched him waver in his stance, looking nearly unsteady on his feet. He was going to lose, and she feared that the price of this loss would rank higher than a street corner to sell a newspaper on. It had to be stopped. She was suddenly so tired, emotionally and physically drained, reduced to a shrivel of the person she had been. She wished for the voice she had known earlier but it escaped her now when she needed it most.

She caught his eye. He stumbled backward and turned his head to meet her gaze. The crystal was softened, beautiful and dancing with the sunlight that shown through. The icicles were melting into a pool of crystal blue water, warm and inviting. A hint of the smirk she'd grown to hate pulled at his swollen lips. It must've been painful but that did not register on his features. He must've kept that separated from his outward appearance, somewhere else deep inside, where her nerves were trying to bury themselves.

He did not catch himself. He faltered, stunning the boys surrounding him into an immovable trance. She alone retained the ability to move. With the broken bottle still clutched in her hand she ran to his falling frame and used her body to cushion his collision with the unforgiving concrete below them. Somehow his collapse was as graceful as his exertion of testosterone. The dock had become silent, her gaze stretched out from the pile of bones crushing her following the lines between the boards of wood that made up the dock. It finally met with the bare feet of the boys encircling her, their toes burned by the heated wood of dock. Their skin stained as the blood dripped from their open wounds attempting to blanket them with the life that escaped from their punctured veins.

A sharp intake of breath called her attention back to the boy who lay upon her. Was he trying to speak? She hadn't realized he could be this defeated, that he was human and could be destroyed. It never seemed that he had the ability to display weakness, especially in the presence of others. How could he have trouble speaking? How could his abundance of physical strength be beaten from him, stolen by the hard fists of an unwavering adversary? Her shock turned to fear as the reality of his situation became clearer to her. He tried to speak again this time blood tumbled out from between his lips as he mumbled two words through a throat choked with blood.

"I'm Sorry" She could no longer avoid his eyes; the water in them had turned into something even softer. The bright cerulean was a soft fabric that she wanted to sink into. The kind of luxurious silk she believed were on the bed sheets of those who could afford to buy her papers each day. Those who didn't have to worry about the threat of hunger, unpredictable weather or an army of angry boys after your selling spot. She was distracted by a soft hand on her face; he stroked her cheek with his thumb, holding her gaze. The warmth that spread through her body at the touch of his palm to her cheek battled against the ball of nerves raging at the center of body, and spiraling outward attempting to overtake her whole being with its force. His words pushed themselves past her ears and into her brain where she struggled to make sense of them. Her mind searched for their meaning but nothing was found.

"You're sorry? What are you sorry for?" Her voice rose to an almost shrill level as desperation snaked its way around her mind and body. She could no longer stand to sit beneath the blazing sun, with a throng of boys watching her every move with her leader apologizing for something she could not grasp. She was desperate for his words to make sense, anxious to learn the answer and be at peace. She raged internally unable to find any comfort for her overactive nerves. The energy demanded to be released physically and she shook him repeatedly waiting for an answer, he had to make sense of it she knew that he would. He was being stubborn and unresponsive, refusing to answer her only because he knew how desperately she needed it. His rebellion angered her, and she shook him harder determined to get a response from him. It was not enough to engage her arms in this physical outburst, tears cascaded from the inner corner of her eyes as if a dam had burst. All the tears her body was capable of producing were forced out to endure the harsh glare of the sun on her burned cheeks.

She could not remember the exact moment she realized he was dead. The boys that surrounded her turned their heads out of shame at the emotional display before them. She looked up as they turned their backs to her, watching them disown her for her humanity. She returned her gaze to what had been Spot Conlon. She could no longer be a blemish to his reputation. Without thinking she leaned down and pressed her lips to his as if this would keep the life from spilling out of him. His blood covered her lips and as she pulled away she became aware that she had kissed a corpse. It disgusted them to see such an outpouring of feeling; they had to distract themselves from the sight of it. Spot's boys had shattered the silence with threats towards the murderer of their beloved leader. She watched these boys who believed they were tough throw words out as weapons, afraid to pick up a fist and finish what He couldn't have. She did not consider the violence she had just witnessed, but labeled them all cowards. The time for words had passed. It would get them nowhere now, the intense desire for an answer rerouted it's aggression in the desire to do something.

When she rose it seemed that no one even noticed. Who pays attention to the small framed girl crying over Spot's lifeless corpse? No one cared about her; they were too wrapped up in themselves and their own selfish display of loyalty to their respective leaders. Let them throw their empty threats at each other, it was the perfect distraction. She walked calmly and slowly, her tear ducts dried as she now had a sense of purpose. Her inner core was at peace, as she calmly sauntered over to Pace with no fear left to control her. Not a soul on that dock paid enough attention to try and stop her. She was ignored or mocked with every step she took. No one made a motion toward her until after she'd shoved the broken bottle into his neck. She thought it would be harder to take a life. The sharp edges of the bottle sunk into the soft skin of his neck so easily, it took such little force to drive it deeper and deeper into the arteries that are essential for life. The hot blood flooded from his open vessels, streaming down his body, the bottle and Brooklyn's arm. The feeling of victory overtook her small frame and she felt she could have defeated the world. It was so satisfying to watch as he struggled desperately for his last breaths, writhing in pain and agony as he lost the precious life he had fought to keep all his days. It was over for him now. Nothing mattered. Not the territory of Brooklyn, not his revenge on Spot, not his success, only obtaining one more gasp of air. Just one more would save him. She watched as fear took hold of his features as he realized he would be dead in mere seconds, endorphins pumped through her body making her feel alive.

The Brooklyn boys claimed her again as they engulfed her in a circle of praise and cheers and ushered her away from the vengeful Queen's newsies worrying over their leader on the dock. The sun beat down on them all unforgiving of all sins. It did not choose sides between them, only against them. Perhaps if they were wealthy the weather could have been convinced to reflect their emotions, and pour thick drops of rain from the sky to blend with their silent tears. The sun did not care to ease its glare, and burned them with its optimistic rays. The heated blood, and sweat and tears produced an odor that surrounded the group protectively as they retreated home. No civilian on the street would have stopped to help or hinder them in their trek home, but for once they could not avoid noticing them.

* * *

Epilogue

Weeks had passed since his death, and the hole that had been gashed in her stomach from it had not yet closed. It seemed that it was only widening and that eventually despair would become her whole world. She could not shake the emotion from her, even using every technique she had learned to release her body of the intense feeling. It became a part of her; she could no longer remember what it was like to function without it.

Late into the night when sleep avoided her she stared at the bottom of the bunk above her pretending he still lay there. She would long to hear the breathing that would signify she was not alone, but she could not pretend for long the sounds she heard were not her own. The wound she felt was a collective one she shared with the boys who slept in the room below her. At least they had each other; she was constantly alone in her superiority.

"Time to sell the papes" Floated through her closed door, supposedly waking her from a much needed sleep. It was not a wake up call as much as her excuse to finally rise from bed. She flew down the stairs past the newsies who all greeted her with as much respect as they could muster. They called her the reason they got to keep their territory. They called her Brooklyn. They called her a leader. She put Spot's hat upon her head as she entered that unforgiving sunlight, unwilling to face the world without it. 


End file.
